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FROM  HOLBEIN  TO  WHISTLER 


PUBLISHED    ON    THE    FOUNDATION 
ESTABLISHED    IN    ^[EMOllY    OF 

HERBERT  A.   SCHEFTEL 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  1898,  YALE  COLLEGE. 


FROM 

HOLBEIN  TO  WHISTLER 

NOTES  ON 
DRAWING  AND  ENGRAVING 


BY 


ALFRED  MANSFIELD  BROOKS 


NEW  HAVEN 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON  :  HUMPHREY  MILFORD  :  OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MDCCCCXX 


COPYRIGHT  1920  BY 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


« 


THE  HERBERT  A.   SCHEFTEL 
MEMORIAL  PUBLICATION    FUND 

The  present  volume  is  the  fourth  work  pubHshed  on  the  Herbert  A,  Scheftel 
Memorial  Publication  Fund.  This  foundation  was  established  January  12, 
1915,  by  the  widow  of  Herbert  A.  Scheftel,  of  the  Class  of  1898,  Yale  College, 
who  died  September  12,  1914.  The  gift  was  made  "in  recognition  of  the 
affection  in  which  he  always  held  Yale  and  in  order  to  perpetuate  in  the 
University  the  memory  of  his  particular  interest  in  the  work  of  the  Yale 
Universitv  Press." 


43645], 


TO 
EVANS  WOOLLEN 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

Introduction  .........      Page     1 

Chapter  I.   Drawing  and  Engraving    .....  19 

II.    The  Beginnings  oj  Line  Engraving  in  Italy  .  37 

III    The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  a) id   If'^ood 

in  the  North 67 

IF.   Mantegna,  Marcantonio  Raimondi,  Lucas  of  Ley- 
den,  Dilrer,  and  Holbein       ....  91 

V.    The  Theory  and  Process  of  Etching — Rembrandt, 

Van  Dyck,  and  Claude  Lorrcdn    .         .         .  123 

VI.   Mezzotint  Engraving — Claude  Lor?'aift  and  Rich- 
ard Ear  lorn 147 

VII.    Turner,    The  Liber   Studiorum  and  Wordsworth  161 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Fame  Island.      Turner 


Frontispiece 
Page 


Fig.     1.  Old  Man  and  Child.     Ghirlandajo    . 

2.  Pencil  Draxving.      William  Blake 

3.  The  Parthenon  Frieze 

4.  Mer  de  Glace.      Turner 

5.  The  Great  Wave.     Hokusai     . 

6.  Japanese  Print.     Sagakudo 

7.  The  Gold-weigher's  Field.     Rembrandt 

8.  Dante's  Divine  Comedy.     ( lAth  Century) 

9.  Anna  Bollein  Queen.     Hans  Holbein 

10.  The  Pax  of  St.  John,  Florence 

11.  Print.     Pax  of  St.  John,  Florence   . 

12.  Otto  Print.     Anon.  Early  Florentine  Engraver 
IS.  The  Holy  Mountain.     Anon.  Florenti?ie  Engrave) 
14'  Dante's  Divine  Comedy,  1481  .... 

15.  Drawing  by  Villars  de  Honnecourt  . 

16.  Drawing  by  Botticelli.     Dante's  Divine  Comedy 

17.  Par7iassus.      Claude  Lorrain    .... 

18.  Assumption  of  the   J^irgin.      Anon.    Florentine  En 

graver  (15th  Centu7^y)       .... 

19.  St.  John.     Crible.     Anon.  German  Engraver  (15th 

Century)  ....... 

20.  St.  Christopher.     Anon.  Engraver  (15th  Century) 

21.  Actors.     Kunisada  ...... 

[  xiii  ] 


6 

20 
21 
22 
23 
25 
30 
32 
34 
49 
50 
54 
56 
58 
61 
62 
63 

64 

75 
76 
79 


List  of  Illustrations 

Fig.  22.  Block  Book.     Canticum  Canticoruvi 

23.  Block  Book.     Ars  Moriendi     . 

2 A.  Virgin  and  Child  with  Saints.     Master  E.  S. 

25.  Madonna.     Martin  Schongauer 

26.  Christ    Appea7i7ig  to   Mary    Magdalene.       Martin 

Schonganer        ...... 

27.  Fanciful  Composition.     Israhel  van  Meckenem 

28.  Death  and  Burial  of  the  Virgin.     Israhel  van  Meek 

enem  ....... 

29.  Battle  of  Sea- gods.     Mantegna 

30.  Triumph  of  Ccesar.     Mantegna 

31.  The  Three  Kings.     Lucas  of  Leyden 

32.  The  Visitcdion.     Dilrer 

33.  The  Repose  in  Egypt.     JJilrer 

34.  3Ielancholia.     Dilrer        ..... 

35.  Adam  and  Eve.     Diirer  .... 

36.  St.  Anthony  Outside  a  City.     Dilrer 

37.  Man  Asleep  by  a  JVood.     Marcantonio  Raimondi 

38.  L^icretzia.     Marcantonio  Raimondi 

39.  Poetry.     Marcantonio  Raimondi 

40.  Mother  and  Child.     Anon.   Italian  Engraver  (16th 

Century)  .... 

41.  DanieVs  Visioji.     Holbein 

42.  The  Skipper.     Holbein     . 

43.  Gradientes  in  Superbia.     Holbein 

44.  Etching  by  Manesse 

45.  Engraved  Line  on  Metal  Plate.     Cross  Section 

46.  Engraved  Line  Printed  on  Paper.     Cross  Section 

47.  Characteristic  Engraved  Line  .... 

48.  Etched  Line  on  Metal  Plate.      Cross  Section 

49.  Etched  Line  Printed  on  Paper.     Cross  Section 

50.  Characteristic  Etched  Line        .... 

[  xiv  ] 


Page 

81 

82 

84 
86 

87 
88 

89 
96 
97 
100 
103 
105 
106 
108 
109 
111 
112 
114 

115 
118 

120 
121 
126 
127 
128 
128 
129 
129 
130 


isdacVs  Etching, 


V  Etching,  Fig, 


Page 
130 

133 
133 
135 
138 
IJ^O 
U3 

lU 
145 


List  of  Illustrations 

Fig.   51.         Raised  Line  of  Jf^ood  Block  Engraving    . 

52.  Etching  by   Unknown  Artist.     Sometivies  attributed 

to  Rembrandt    . 

53.  The  Square  Tower.     Rembrandt 

54.  The  Three  Trees.     Rembrandt 

55.  Lucas  Forsterman.      Fan  Dyck 

56.  The  Great  Cannon.     Dilrer     . 

57.  Cottage  on  a  Hill.     Ruisdael    . 

58.  Confused  Unde?^lying  Design  of  Ru 

Fig.  57     . 

59.  Aesecus  and  Hesperie.      Turner 

60.  Clear  Underlying  Design  of  Turner 

50 145 

61.  Jonquils.     Line,  Monochrome,  Color         .  Facing  150 

62.  Brougham  Cdstle.      2'urner      .         .  .          .          .157 

63.  Mezzotint  by  Richard  Earlom  .         .  .         .         .160 

64.  Dumblain  Abbey.      Turner       .         .  .         .         .172 

65.  Dumblain  Abbey.      Turner       .         .  .         .         .173 

66.  Simplon  Pass.      Turner    .         .         .  .         .         .175 

67.  Blair  Athol.      Turner 176 

68.  Norham  Castle.      Turner 177 

69.  Rouen.      Turner 180 

70.  Rouen.      Turner 181 

71.  Rouen.      Turner 182 


[xv] 


INTRODUCTION 


A 


.LL  judgment  passed  on  pictures  must  come  from  one  or  the  other 
of  two  sources;  from  artists,  the  producing  class,  or  from  those  who 
look  at  pictures  for  pleasure,  for  instruction,  or  for  both.  The  former  are 
few  by  comparison  with  the  latter.  Of  them,  artists,  only  a  very  small 
fraction  ever  writes  about  the  virtues  and  shortcomings  of  pictures  or,  in 
common  parlance,  gives  itself  to  criticism.  This  is  left  to  another  few 
who  form  a  party  by  themselves.  In  a  measure,  sometimes  a  surprising 
measure,  this  class  controls  the  picture  market,  past,  as  well  as  present. 
Occasionally  they  make  both  reputation  and  fortune  for  a  new,  or  young 
artist,  but  in  more  instances  they  are  a  millstone  about  the  artistic  neck. 
They  seek  to  instruct  and  to  direct  the  great  class  of  picture  buyers, 
and  lovers  of  pictures,  whether  owners  or  not.  They  may  suddenly  bring 
into  fashion  the  works  of  men  long  forgotten,  in  most  cases  justly  so,  but, 
now  and  then,  unjustly.  These  persons,  critics,  are  of  the  passing  sort,  those 
who  seek  to  write  entertainingly  for  the  papers  and  art  ])eriodicals,  or 
they  are  of  the  permanent  sort,  those  who  seek,  philosophically,  to  dis- 
cover the  princii)les  and  fundamentals  of  great  art,  and  to  expound  those 
qualities  which  make  pictures  good  or  bad,  no  matter  when  done,  or 
where,  or  by  whom.  This  is  not  to  say  that  the  former  are  necessarily 
poor  or  the  latter  necessarily  good,  although  the  chances  lie  this  way,  be- 
cause many  of  the  former  are  little  more  than  reporters  and  hackwriters, 
while  most  of  the  latter  are,  at  least,  specially  trained  in,  and  devoted  for 
life  to,  the  profession  of  criticism.  But  this  in  turn  may  mean  nothing 
more  than  ponderous  dullness  and  general  unintelligibility ;  in  other  words, 
that  uninspired  accuracy  of  the  sort  typified  by  so  much  of  the  work  of  the 
modern  German  purveyors  of  fact  unredeemed  by  imagination,  that  sine 
qua  non  alike  of  the  production  and  the  understanding  of  pictures.      At 

[  1  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

b6st,  art  critics  are  like  book  reviewers.  They  do  some  good  and  a  great 
deal  of  harm.  Finally,  however,  a  really  great  picture,  like  a  great  book, 
acquires  a  recognized  existence  of  its  own  and  becomes  (juite  independent 
of  all  critics,  alike  of  those  who  blame  and  those  who  praise.  AVhen  this 
occurs  the  picture  in  question,  like  the  really  great  book,  has  its  life  in  the 
affections  of  men  generally,  and  its  immortality,  together  with  that  of  its 
maker,  becomes  assured.  That  Wordsworth  was  ridiculed,  Thackeray  con- 
demned, and  Turner  laughed  at  has  long  since  ceased  to  signify  anything 
more  than  that  their  critics  were  mistaken.  "The  Prelude,"  "Henry 
Esmond,"  and  the  "Temeraire"  are  already  elected  to  "The  Immortals" 
by  the  only  vote  which  counts  permanently  in  such  elections,  the  vote  of 
intelligent  men  scattered  over  a  long  period  of  time. 

This  book  deals  only  with  pictures  of  great  and  unquestioned  merit. 
It  seeks  neither  to  make  nor  to  mar  the  reputation  of  any  artist.  And  no 
more  does  it  concern  itself  with  market  values.  It  deals  primarily  with 
the  art  of  engraving  in  one  or  other  of  its  better-known  forms,  together 
with  the  art  of  drawing  which,  as  it  is  the  foundation  of  all  good  picture 
making,  is  the  foundation  of  all  good  engraving.  To  point  out  some  of 
the  salient  requisites  of  good  drawing,  and  to  illustrate  these  requisites  as 
they  appear  in  a  limited  number  of  the  works  of  the  best  and  most  famous 
engravers  the  world  has  produced,  is  the  second,  but  in  no  sense  secondary, 
aim  of  this  book.  For  the  doing  of  these  things  understandingly  it  will 
be  necessary  to  deal  with  differences  of  medium,  tools,  and  methods  em- 
ploj^ed  by  the  artist-draughtsman,  as  such,  and  this  same  artist-draughts- 
man turned  engraver.  In  fine,  it  is  a  book  on  drawing  and  engraving 
intended  to  help  the  already  large  and  yearly  increasing  number  of  those 
who  are  interested  in  these  two  arts, — drawing,  perhaps  the  subtlest  as 
well  as  loveliest,  and  engraving,  probably  the  most  difficult  in  point  of 
technique,  as  well  as  loveliest,  of  all  the  forms  of  pictorial  representation 
known  to  man  in  his  capacity  of  artist.  The  help  intended  is  offered  in 
the  form  of  useful  and  basic  facts,  together  with  some  consideration  of  im- 
portant principles  and  theories,  relating  to  the  twin  arts  treated  of,  and 
the  specific  examples  of  each  of  these  arts  considered.  It  is  help  intended 
to  make  the  judgment  of  the  intelligent  layman,  the  amateur  enthusiast, 
more  certain,  and  to  afford  him  some  of  the  materials  necessary  to  an  up- 
building of  the  sort  of  critical  art-faculty  that  shall  count,  to  him  personally, 
for  better  understanding,  hence  truer  appreciation,  of  the  things  which  he 

[  ^  ] 


Introduction 

sincerely  loves.  In  a  word,  enable  him  to  give  himself  reasons  for  the 
faith  which  is  in  him  regarding  great  and  famous  pictures  produced  by  men 
whose  only  tools  were  pencil,  pen,  graver,  or  etching  needle. 

Of  making  pictures,  like  making  books,  there  is  no  end.  Of  both, 
the  real  value  exists  in  the  power  of  appeal  to,  and  in  the  aniount  of  in- 
fluence upon,  the  people  who  look  at  them,  and  read  them.  They  remain 
what  they  have  been  time  out  of  mind,  the  two  chief  conveyancers  of  the 
thoughts  of  men  within  single  generations,  and  likewise  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  It  is  needless  to  argue  their  importance.  Primarily  both 
are  matters  of  description  and,  in  no  remote  or  abstruse  manner,  this  de- 
scription amounts  to  imitation ;  the  making  of  such  combinations  of  words 
or  marks  on  paper  as  shall,  upon  looking  at  them,  conjure  up  visions  of 
reality,  known  or  unknown,  in  the  sense  of  actually  experienced,  in  the 
mind  of  the  reader  or  looker.  They  both  alike  involve  a  double  question 
of  truth ;  truth  to  actual  fact,  fact  such  as  the  reporter  and  the  camera 
record,  and  truth  to  the  significance  of  this  same  fact  in  the  mind  of  the 
artist  who  recorded  it,  a  further  sort  of  truth  which  only  the  man  of  reason 
and  imagination  can  perceive,  and  only  the  artist  who  is  a  master  of  his 
tools  and  medium  can  record.  The  point  is  that  every  good  picture  and 
every  good  book  tells  us  what  its  maker  saw  and  knew,  plus  something  of 
what  he  thought  about  what  he  saw  and  knew,  and  what  he  wants  other 
men — those  who  read  his  book  or  look  at  his  picture — to  think  along  with 
him.  As  he  has  it  in  him  to  commune  deeply  with  his  subject,  whatever 
it  may  be,  and  has  found  that  subject  inspiring,  illuminating,  delightful, 
one  or  all  of  these,  so  he  wishes  other  men  to  commune  in  similar  fashion, 
through  him,  vicariously  as  it  were,  with  similar  result.  What  the  artist- 
draughtsman,  artist-writer,  really  does  is  to  create  a  magic  triangle  whereof 
he  places  himself  at  one  angle,  the  treatment  of  his  subject,  his  work,  at 
another,  and  the  human  being  who  is  to  benefit  by  sharing  in  that  work 
at  the  third;  this  done,  to  establish  bonds  of  common  understanding  or 
sympathy  between  each  pair  of  adjacent  angles.  In  different  words,  the 
true  artist  always  seeks  to  make  those  who  come  near  to  him,  through  his 
work,  happier,  wiser,  better,  as  the  case  may  be,  by  coming  into  more  in- 
timate accjuaintance  with  a  subject  with  which  they  already  are  acquainted, 
or  into  acquaintance  with  a  subject  of  which  they  previously  had  known 
nothing  at  all.  The  end  of  all  great  art  is  not  only  praise,  as  Ruskin  said, 
but  increase  of  understanding  and  sympathy  among  men,  both  of  and  for 

[  3  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

humiin  nature,  man;  of  and  with  that  beautiful  and  wonderful  nature  which 
we  call  'inanimate'  and  the  numberless  living  things,  other  than  man, 
which  it  supports.  In  the  final  reaction,  art  and  truth,  whether  the  art  of 
pictures  or  of  books,  are  one,  in  degree  as  either  approaches  to  greatness. 
AVith  each  the  highest  attainable  end  has  been  reached  when  the  words  or 
marks — precious  in  exact  proportion  as  they  convey  to  others  an  accurate 
sense  of  reality,  beauty,  significance,  as  these  existed  in  the  vivid  minded- 
ness  of  their  author — become  faithful  conveyancers  of  truth.  Locke,  in 
his  essay  on  the  "Human  Understanding,"  says,  in  speaking  of  the  abuse 
of  words,  w^hat  is  equally  true  of  the  lines  which  make  up  a  drawing,  "The 
first  and  most  palpable  abuse  is  the  using  of  words  without  clear  and  dis- 
tinct ideas;  or,  which  is  worse,  signs  without  anything  signified."  In 
drawing,  the  lines,  every  touch,  are  signs.  All  great  art  implies  three 
things;  an  understanding  of  one's  self,  i.e.,  the  artist;  of  one's  matter,  i.e., 
the  artist's  subject;  of  those  for  whom  the  artist  voluntarily  assumes  the 
glad  pains  of  the  labor  of  actually  drawing  the  picture  or  writing  the  book, 
i.e.,  readers,  or  the  people  who  look  at  pictures. 

One  thing  is  certain  in  regard  to  each,  maker  of  books  or  pictures,  the 
value  and  imperative  need  of  originality.  Beware  of  it.  Nothing  is  rarer 
or  more  precious.  Neither  is  any  quality  more  counterfeited.  As  no  at- 
tribute can  lift  an  artist  higher,  or  seat  him  more  securely  among  men  of 
enduring  reputation,  so  none  can  cast  him  lower  or  consign  him  to  such 
deep  oblivion  as  pseudo-originality.  Originality  in  art  is  evidence  of  nuui's 
power  to  discover  hitherto  unseen,  or  wholly  forgotten,  meanings  and  facts, 
in  life  and  nature ;  this,  together  with  the  ])ower  to  have  fresh  thoughts 
about  such  meanings  and  facts  as  have  long  been  commonly  recognized. 
This  power  is  the  world's  sole  defense  against  boredom.  To  be  truly  origi- 
nal is  to  see  and  think  new  things  about  old  subjects,  sanely.  This  is  genius. 
It  means  continuing  the  freshness  and  the  joy  of  youth  on  into  the  years  of 
manhood  and  age ;  on  into  the  years  when  the  mysteries  of  technical  expres- 
sion have  all  been  fathomed,  and  the  hand  has  gained  all  the  cunning  which 
long  and  wise  practice  can  bestow  upon  it.  Such  freshness  and  joy,  in  the 
matter  of  landscape,  as  Wordsw^orth's  "Youth"  had  when, 

"he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up,  and  bathe  the  world  in  light ! 

He  looked — 
Ocean  and  earth,  the  solid  frame  of  earth 

[  4  ] 


Introduction 

And  ocean's  liquid  mass,  in  gladness  lay 

Beneath  him : — Far  and  wide  the  clouds  were  touched, 

And  in  their  silent  faces  could  be  read 

Unutterable  love. 

his  spirit  drank 
The  spectacle ;  sensation,  soul  and  form. 
All  melted  into  him ;  they  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being ;  in  them  did  he  live, 
And  by  them  did  he  live;  they  were  his  life.'' 

Such  fresh  keenness  of  perception,  in  the  matter  of  human  portraiture  as 
is  described  in  "Lancelot  and  Elaine" : 

"As  when  a  painter,  poring  on  a  face 
Divinely  through  all  hindrance  finds  the  man 
Behind  it,  and  so  paints  him  that  his  face, 
The  shape  and  color  of  a  mind  and  life, 
I^ives  for  his  children,  ever  at  its  best 
And  fullest." 

Nothing,  as  all  know,  is  rarer  than  that  genius  which  is  always 
evidenced,  in  part,  by  the  strange  and  beautiful  simplicity  of  seeing,  which 
looks  straight  into  the  hearts  of  men;  the  simplicity  which  is  preeminently 
characteristic  of  a  child ;  and,  in  part,  by  that  simplicity  of  utterance,  in 
line  or  word,  which  cleaves  close  up  to  the  essential  structure  of  the  forms 
and  facts  to  be  described  or  depicted,  ruthlessly  cutting  away  all  that  is 
adventitious,  no  matter  how  lovely  or  how  interesting  in  itself.  Rarely 
has  this  strange  and  beautiful  simplicity  of  seeing,  it  is  the  simplicitj^  of 
childhood  carried  over  into  manhood  and  age,  been  better  explained  in 
words  than  when  William  de  Morgan  wrote  about  Ghirlandajo's  Louvre 
portrait  (Fig.  1 )  of  the  old  man  whose  nose  is  so  disfigured  by  disease,  and  the 
pretty  child  who  is  so  oblivious  of  the  defect,  and  so  sure  of  "the  man 
behind  it."  And  never  did  a  painter,  a  man  in  the  full  flush  of  years, 
cleave  closer  to  the  essentials  of  his  subject,  or  more  ruthlessly  forego  every 
adventitious  detail. 

"I  am  sure  these  babies  see  straight  through  wrinkles  and  decay  and 
toothless  gums  to  the  burning  soul  the  old  shell  imprisons,  and  love  it. 
Do  you  recollect  that  picture  in  the  Louvre — the  old  man  with  the  sweet 
face  and  the  appalling  excrescence  on  the  nose  and  the  little  boy's  unflinch- 
ing love  as  he  looks  up  to  him?"     The  pressure  of  this  child's  hand,   and 

[  5  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

the  lift  of  this  child's  eye  are  of  the  proofs  which  transcend  all  doubt.  The 
limpid  clearness  of  the  landscape  seen  through  the  window  by  which  sit 
these  two  who  are  one,  is  a  fit  symbol  of  this  child's  crystalline  under- 
standing, and  not  less  of  Ghirlandajo's. 


Fig.   1.      Old  Man  and  Child.      Ghirlandajo. 

"How  can  I  be  original?"      "Is  it  original?" 

These  questions  are  insistently  and  incessantly  asked  in  the  constantly 
self-searched  heart  of  the  artist,  and  the  not  less  self-searched  hearts  of 
those  who  seek  the  benefits  and  pleasures  of  art,  laymen,  cultivated  and 
uncultivated. 

[6] 


Introduction 

"Is  there  anything  new  to  say?"  "Has  this  or  that  particular  pic- 
ture anything  new  to  tell?" 

Could  any  one  be  found  who  has,  as  artist  or  lover  of  art,  given  these 
questions  a  single  hour's  thought,  who  would  deny  their  fate-like  impor- 
tance? He  who  plays  at  originality  is  the  one  who  loses.  To  pretend  to 
genius  is  the  consummate  mockery  that  a  man  can  lay  upon  himself.  It 
is  a  disease  which  attacks  the  distinctly  talented  and  the  very  stupid,  pass- 
ing over  that  great  middle  class  whom  saving  common  sense  protects.  It 
is  the  blight  of  many  a  fairly  good  artist  and  of  hundreds  of  would-be  con- 
noisseurs. It  may  be  conscious  or  unconscious  pretense.  That  does  not 
matter.     The  fire  burns  though  we  know  not  that  it  is  hot. 

There  is  a  remark  bearing  directly,  and  with  complete  illumination, 
upon  this  matter  of  originality,  which  may  appear  to  have  been  treated  in 
a  somewhat  vague  and  mysterious  manner.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  subject  is  not  a  definite  one,  admitting  of  definite  treatment  in 
the  same  sense,  and  with  such  certain  results,  as  when  we  add  three  to  four 
and  get  seven.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  painter  of  the  best  of  portraits,  be- 
cause, in  drawing  a  face,  he  revealed  the  temper  of  the  soul  of  his  sitter,  a 
thing  which  no  camera,  with  all  its  accuracy,  can  do,  was  the  author  of  one 
of  the  most  valuable  books  ever  written  about  art.  This  book  is  doubly 
precious  because  it  is  made  up  of  the  opinions  of  a  very  eminent  artist 
whom  the  world  recognizes  as  a  highly  successful  man,  upon  the  theory 
and  purpose  of  art,  as  well  as  the  practice.  Sir  Joshua  tells  us  that  "the 
best  road  to  originality  is  through  what  has  been  done."  This  means, 
knowing  the  past ;  possessing  ourselves  of  such  knowledge  as  can  alone 
be  got  from  a  thoughtful  and  discriminating  study  of  the  works  of  the 
past.  The  fruit  of  such  knowledge  is  the  establishing  of  a  bond  of  sym- 
pathy between  us,  the  producers  and  consumers  of  the  present,  artist  and 
lover  of  art,  and  what  has  been  done  before  our  day.  Such  knowledge  is 
the  only  sure  foundation  on  which  to  build  a  sane  criticism  of  art,  and 
the  sole  trustworthy  pledge  for  its  further  upbuilding  in  the  future.  It  is 
the  very  body  of  originality ;  first  and  best  aid  that  the  ordinary  man  can 
give  to  genius  which,  Dante  said,  is  "inpoured  of  heaven  at  birth  andean 
be  had  through  no  human  wilHng. "  In  fine,  it  means  a  company  of  in- 
telligent, trained  appreciators.      To  neglect  it  is  criminal. 

This  applies  to  all  those  who  make  up,  so  to  speak,  the  great  lay  class, 
as  well  as  painters  and  artists.     As  artists,  students  in  the  sense  of  amateur 

[  7  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

practitioners  of  art,  or  appreciators  solely,  we  should  rid  ourselves  of  the 
notion  that  because  a  work  of  art  is  being  loudly  acclaimed  it  is  of  neces- 
sity, or  even  probably,  original.  Look  sooner  at  the  work  which  some- 
body who  has  the  right  of  judgment,  one  who  has  given  the  work  of  his 
own  day  full  consideration,  as  well  as  much  heed  to  what  the  past  thought 
about  the  subject  as  well  as  produced,  regards  as  sound  and  fine.  This  is 
not  saying  that  we  should  alone  study  the  past  and  despise  the  present. 
It  is  saying  only  this,  and  emphatically,  that  we  ought  to  avail  ourselves 
of  all  the  help  we  can  command ;  that  help  lies  in  the  past  as  well  as  in  the 
present,  perhaps  more. 

Listen  again  to  Sir  Joshua.  "Invention  is  one  of  the  great  marks  of 
genius;  but  if  we  consult  experience,  we  shall  find,  that  it  is  by  being  con- 
versant with  the  experience  of  others,  that  we  learn  to  invent ;  as  by  read- 
ing the  thoughts  of  others  we  learn  to  think."  Genius  and  originality  are 
will-o'-the-wisps.  If  we  refuse  to  look  and  to  prepare  until  they  come  our 
way  we  are  pretty  sure  to  have  grown  blind  by  the  time  they  pass  and  so 
be  little  the  better  for  their  passing.  Shakespeare's  "Reputation"  is  a 
thing  "oft  got  without  merit,"  sounds  a  precious  and  a  fearful  warning. 
The  breath  of  popular  applause  often  sullies  what  it  advertises.  Like  its 
sister  breath  of  condemnation,  it  rarely  has  much  to  do  with  fixing  ulti- 
mate values  in  the  field  of  art.  At  the  present  moment  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  people,  artists  among  them,  who  believe  work  to  be  original 
simply  because  they  do  not  know  that  the  past  produced  the  same  thing, 
perhaps  more  than  once,  not  to  add,  did  it  better.  The  would-be  social 
reformer  discovering  late  in  life  that  Plato  had  "hit  upon"  some  of  her 
ideas  offers  an  amusing  illustration  to  the  point.  Such  persons,  in  relation 
to  art,  it  matters  not  at  all  whether  they  call  themselves  laymen,  practi- 
tioners, or  critics,  are  uneducated.  To  be  so  is  not  a  greater  disgrace  in 
this  connection  than  in  any  other :  neither  is  it  less  of  a  misfortune. 

Dissemination  of  knowledge  about  pictures,  drawn  or  engraved,  can 
accomphsh  much  in  the  way  of  elevating  taste,  even  excellent  taste,  to  the 
far  more  desirable  level  of  culture.  No  one  has  made  the  distinction  be- 
tween these  two  more  clearly  than  Pater.  It  is  so  complete  as  to  amount 
to  a  definition  of  each.  "What  is  meant  by  taste  is  an  imperfect  intellec- 
tual state ;  it  is  but  a  sterile  kind  of  culture.  It  is  the  mental  attitude,,  the 
intellectual  manner  of  perfect  culture,  assumed  by  a  happy  instinct.  Its 
beautiful  way  of  handling  everything  that  appeals  to  the  senses  and  the 

[8  ] 


Introduction 

intellect  is  really  directed  by  the  laws  of  the  higher  intellectual  life,  but 
while  culture  is  able  to  trace  those  laws  mere  taste  is  unaware  of  them." 
This  is  another  way  of  saying  that  one  man  can  and  another  cannot  give 
reasons  for  the  faith  which  is  in  him.  There  is  no  room  for  argument  as 
to  what  the  world  has  always  thought  about  the  relative  merits,  intellectu- 
ally speaking,  of  two  such  men.  There  can  be  no  doubt  also  as  to  the 
satisfaction  to  oneself  of  being  able  to  tell  why,  or  as  to  the  good  w^hich 
one  may  be  able  to  do  others  by  fitting  himself  to  tell  why.  The  ])oint 
is  that  the  good  estate  of  art  depends  upon  practitioner  and  appreciator, 
on  layman  and  producer,  on  artist  and  consumer.  The  more  each  enters 
into  and  truly  understands  the  other's  point  of  view,  and  the  more  both 
know  about  what  has  been  done  in  the  past,  the  better  it  will  be  for  art 
and  the  understanding  of  art  in  the  present. 

It  is  comparatively  easy  to  distinguish  between  the  work  of  talent  and 
stupidity,  the  good  and  the  bad.  It  is  a  very  different  matter  to  distin- 
guish between  good  work  and  that  which  is  downright  excellent ;  the  ema- 
nation of  genius.  To  do  this  re(juires  accurate  ])owers  of  discrimination; 
firm  and  abiding  fairness ;  a  thoughtful  bent  of  mind ;  imagination ;  and  all 
the  information  that  can  possibly  be  had.  The  result  is  true  appreciation, 
another  name  for  profound  understanding.  It  always  implies  sympathy. 
In  such  degree  as  an  individual  has  it  is  he  cultivated.  Appreciation  of 
art  is  the  product  of  powerfully  trained  reason  joined  to  an  unusual  capacity 
for  feeling.  Sentiment  is  at  the  core  of  it.  Sentimentality  is  pole- distant 
from  it.  There  are  two  main  avenues  of  approach  to  it.  One  lies  along 
the  way  of  Sir  Joshua's  advice;  it  would  be  easy  to  name  many  fainous 
men  who  have  acted  upon  the  principles  underlying  his  advice, — learn  how 
the  past  brought  reason  and  imagination  to  bear  upon  the  materials  of  art. 
Man  and  nature,  be  it  remembered,  are  those  materials.  The  other  ave- 
nue is  that  of  today,  here,  and  tomorrow, — the  living  present  and  the 
future.  All  great  art  is  vivid  and  has  been  always.  It  is  the  record  of  a 
mind  and  heart  keenly  alive  to  the  environment  of  their  own  time.  All 
great  art  clothes  the  fondest  memory  and  the  intensest  reality  with  the  garb 
of  immediacy.  Hills  of  Judea,  or  features  of  Christ,  as  well  as  every  com- 
mon sight,  when  conjured  into  the  presence  of  memory,  in  degree  of  their 
vividness  take  on  the  semblance  of  what  we  know  best  and  best  compre- 
hend in  our  own  everyday  existence  and  environment.  Too  many  of  us  for- 
get, or  never  really  grasp  the  fact,  that  all  men  are  potentially  artists ;  that 

[  9  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing  and  Eng'raving' 

the  Raphaels  and  the  Rembraiidts,  the  Leonardos  and  the  Turners,  have 
made  pictures  for  us  all,  in  the  same  sense  that  the  Shakespeares  and  the 
^Vordsworths  have  spoken  for  us  all.  To  be  a  people's  or  an  age's  mouth- 
])ieee,  is  to  be  a  great  artist. 

"True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress ' d ; 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed, ' ' 

might  properly,  for  our  present  purpose,  be  changed  to  have  "wit"  read 
'  'art. ' '  But  we  should  never  forget  that  these,  and  all  of  their  ilk,  have  dealt 
invariably  with  those  eternal  commonplaces  which  make  up  the  life  of  man 
and  the  life  of  nature  without  regard  to  time  or  place.  They  do  precisely 
what  Sir  Walter  Scott  said  a  gentleman  asks  of  literature,  namely,  "that 
it  shall  arouse  him  from  his  habitual  contempt  for  what  goes  on  about  him. ' ' 
In  other  words,  it  is  the  splendid  mission  of  the  real  artist  to  make  us 
acquainted  with  the  people  whom  we  constantly  meet  in  our  daily  round 
of  life;  to  make  us  acquainted  with  the  surroundings  of  our  everyday  exist- 
ence ;  and,  in  doing  so,  to  make  us  rightly  value  the  wonder  and  the  beauty 
of  God's  creation,  animate  and  inanimate,  and  through  such  valuing  realize 
the  significance  of  what  is  infinitely  more  wonderful  and  more  beautiful 
than  we  ourselves  may  ever  have  the  happy  fortune  to  learn  through  any 
experience  of  our  own.  This  way  only  leads  to  a  comprehension  of,  hence 
a  sharing  in,  those  works  of  art  which  represent  man  at  his  best,  which  is 
the  same  as  saying  his  closest  approach  to  the  ideal.  To  be  able  to  share 
thus  is  the  very  essence  of  culture.  Its  end  is  reverence,  delight,  and  peace. 
To  make  plain  how  engraving,  in  its  many  forms,  is  but  a  kind  of 
drawing,  and  how  drawing,  as  such,  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  all  the  arts,  and 
one,  as  such,  not  understood  and,  much  less,  valued  at  a  tithe  of  its  real 
worth  even  by  the  majority  of  persons  who  pretend  to  an  interest  in  art, 
and  not  regarded  or  understood  at  all  by  most  persons,  is  really  the  pur- 
pose of  the  following  pages.  To  do  these  things  it  will  be  necessary  to 
ex])lain,  with  more  or  less  detail,  some  of  the  technicalities  upon  which 
rest  the  respective  life  of  drawing  and  engraxing.  Further,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  touch  frecjuently  upon  matters  of  history  in  connection  with 
them.  In  other  words,  to  speak  of  how,  and  when,  and  where,  and  wh}', 
they  came  into  being.  But  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  relate  the 
liistory  of  engraving.  That  has  been  done  in  many  languages,  and  well 
done  many  times.      And  less  is  it  intended  as  a  treatise  on  the  i)rocesses  of 

[  10  ] 


Introduction 

engraving.  Less  still  will  it  be  found  to  add  fresh  facts  to  the  great  stores 
of  knowledge  already  gathered  in  such  connection.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
this  book  may  lead  interested  persons,  trained  or  untrained  in  drawing,  to 
turn  their  attention  to  it,  together  with  the  splendid  and  closely  related  art 
of  engraving  in  its  manifold  forms  of  strength  and  beauty.  It  is  hoped 
to  bring  this  about  through  an  introduction  to  the  never-ending  sources 
of  delight  and  the  unending  help  which  may  be  found  in  the  enormous 
number  of  easily  accessible  examples  of  these  essentially  identical  arts. 
Such  an  introduction  must,  of  necessity,  deal  with  the  question  of  values, 
technical  as  well  as  spiritual,  and  with  specific  illustration  of  such  values, 
but  will  not  deal  with  a  burdensome  and  confusing  number  of  actual  works 
of  art,  either  drawings  or  engravings.  For  this  reason  a  comparatively 
small  number  of  famous  instances  of  the  engraver's  art,  each  one  in  itself 
a  notable  example  of  drawing,  will  be  discussed,  while  the  greater  part  of 
the  book  will  be  taken  up  with  a  consideration  of  the  fundamental  ])rinci- 
ples  governing  the  practice  of  these  arts,  the  range  of  ideas  possible  to 
them,  and  their  particular  places  in  the  world  of  art  generally.  Further, 
the  reader's  attention  will  be  called  to  certain  of  the  manifold  ways  by 
which  the  engraver  and  his  art,  or  the  engraver  and  his  trade,  have  had  a 
hand,  often  leading  hand,  in  the  concerns  of  religion  and  the  spread  of 
knowledge,  not  to  mention  increasing  the  material  and  durable  satisfac- 
tions and  delights  of  civilized  and  cultivated  men.  Engraving  that  has 
given  the  world  so  many  of  its  best  pictures  also  gave  it  the  art  of  print- 
ing, its  chief  vehicle  for  the  spread  of  information  and  wisdom,  for  as  draw- 
ing was  mother  of  engraving,  so  engraving  was  mother  of  printing.  At 
the  present  moment,  in  one  or  other  of  its  many  forms,  it  is  made  use  of 
to  expound  the  printed  page,  be  its  subject  poetry,  mechanics,  medicine, 
or  any  one  of  a  liundred  other  matters.  Again,  we  find  it  serving  the  ends 
of  joy,  as  in  Rembrandt's  insi)ired  transcripts  of  nature's  grandeur  and 
beauty ;  the  ends  of  comfort  and  inspiration,  as  when  it  preserves,  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation,  the  visages  of  the  fathers  with  all  that  strength 
or  weakness  set  therein ;  the  ends  of  memory,  as  when  it  reproduces  the 
Sistine  mother,  or  Michelangelo's  ])rophets.  This  alone  is  enough  to 
prove  engraving  to  be  a  great  thing.  That  is  precisely  what  it  is ;  great 
art  and  great  business,  tlie  course  of  which,  down  the  centuries,  is  lined 
with  splendid  monuments.  And  today  it  is  more  important  than  ever  it 
was,  making  faithful  record  of  our  age  in  the  innumerable  services  which 

[  11  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

it  is  rendering  our  time;  fixing,  beyond  forgetfulness,  tlie  works  by  which 
we  succeed,  in  which  we  fail,  and  for  which,  together,  we  shall  be  known. 
But  remember  as  there  can  be  no  good  painting  without  good  drawing,  so 
there  can  be  no  good  engraving.  Neither  can  there  be  good  printing,  good 
architecture  or  any  one  of  a  hundred  other  things  which  are  at  once  de- 
lightful and  useful,  without  good  drawing.  Leonardo  da  Vinci  was  right 
when  he  called  it  the  father  of  all  the  arts. 

The  study  of  art,  in  other  words,  the  study  of  those  things  which,  for 
whatsoever  purpose,  are  the  desirable  expressions  of  human  thought,  may 
be  a  liberalizing  study,  or  a  narrowing  occupation,  according  as  it  endeav- 
ors to  discover  the  real  purpose  of  the  artist  and  the  principles  of  his  art, 
or  is  satisfied  with  facts  of  authorship,  date,  or  accepted  popular  value;  in 
fine,  the  gossip  of  art  which  often  passes  for  culture  among  uncultivated 
people.  Much,  too  much,  doubtless,  has  been  written  and  said  of  the  dis- 
tinction between  fine  art  and  mechanic  or  trade  art.  Yet  for  the  working 
purposes  of  an  elementary  understanding  of  either,  such  a  distinction,  a 
distinction  never  to  be  drawn  hard  and  fast,  has  to  be  insistently  made. 
Not  less  insistently  should  stress  be  placed  upon  the  fact  that  each  form  of 
art  has  a  right,  rather,  a  duty,  to  look  towards  perfection,  that  consum- 
mate dignity  and  beauty  which  invariably  adorn  the  works  of  men  when 
those  w^orks  adequately  fulfill  their  ends,  and  the  ends  are  useful,  or  noble, 
or  both.  It  may  be  a  locomotive,  submarine,  or  aeroplane ;  "Pastoral  Sym- 
phony, "  "  King  Lear, ' '  a  vision  of  nature  such  as  ' '  The  Prelude, "  or  of 
paradise  such  as  Tintoret's,  Botticelli's,  Fra  xVngelico's.  But  there  is  this 
great  difference  between  the  former  and  the  latter  group.  The  usefulness 
of  the  former  lasts  but  a  little  while,  and  the  ideas  expressed  are  soon  lost 
sight  of  amidst  such  change  and  improvement  as  have  constantly  gone  on 
during  the  past  century  in  the  world  of  applied  science,  and  among  the 
creatures  of  its  making,  the  real  end  of  which  is  greater  and  greater  physi- 
cal convenience  to  men ;  applied,  not  pure  science,  the  end  of  which  is  to 
know;  simply,  to  know;  to  rejoice  in  wisdom  for  her  own  sake,  as  the 
artist  and  the  devotee  of  art  do  in  beauty  which  needs  no  excuse  for  being 
save  itself.  The  latter  group,  music,  poetry,  and  painting,  remains  stead- 
fast. Great  painting,  great  music,  great  poetry,  in  themselves  unchang- 
ing, grow  more  and  more  precious  with  the  passing  of  years,  to  all  men 
who  truly  care  for  them ;  whose  s])iritual  state,  in  great  measure,  depends 
upon  them ;  whose  legacy  of  comfort  and  cheer  and  pure  delight  they  are ; 

[  12  ] 


Introduction 

legacy  unafFected  by  current  ({notation,  or  b}^  death  duties.  And,  further- 
more, as  their  value  cannot  be  dimmed  by  age,  so  it  does  not  tarnish  by 
neglect.  Their  worth  rises  with  appreciation,  and  aj)preciation,  product 
of  an  understanding  heart,  belongs  to  the  loxer  of  beauty  and  truth ;  to 
the  great  scientist  and  the  great  artist  alike.  The  study  of  those  things 
which  are  true  and  beautiful  is  the  sole  way  which  leads  to  appreciation, 
and  appreciation  is  the  sole  surety  and  witness  of  culture.  Of  itself  it 
begets  more.  To  him  who  has  some  of  it  more  of  it  is  sure  to  be  given. 
It  is  wholly  apart  from  science  in  the  usual  sense,  a])plied  science,  but  not 
from  pure.  Need  a  man  know  the  weight  and  composition  of  atmos- 
pheres, or  the  laws  of  refraction  of  light,  to  have  his  heart  leap  up  when 
he  beholds  a  rainbow?  Need  he  be  a  grammarian  to  care  for  and  rejoice 
in  the  poem  of  which  this  rainbow  line  is  one  among  many  iridescent  lines 
in  which  heavenly  truth  is  fused  into  earthly,  but  imperishable  beauty? 
In  fact,  lamentable  fact,  many  men  either  through  being  made,  or  mak- 
ing themselves,  into  what  passes  muster — less  figuratively,  examina- 
tion— for  scientist  or  grammarian,  philologist  the  latter  is  usually  called, 
and  artist  too,  if  we  are  to  judge  by  that  rule-of-thumb  education  in  art 
which  some  authorities  are  exen  now  vainly  heralding, — many  men  become 
such  that  every  (juality  implied  by  the  word  heart  is  atro])liied  in  them. 
These  are  the  men  who  have  the  German  view  of  education,  education  in 
facts  to  the  neglect  of  imagination,  which  has  fallen  hea^'ily  upon  America 
during  recent  decades;  part  of  that  killing  frost,  German  Kultur,  which, 
during  the  same  decades,  fell  upon  the  whole  world.  It  is  cankering 
materialism.  It  has  mas(iueraded  as  science  and  as  art,  and  it  has  ruin- 
ously discounted  both,  to  the  incalculable  detriment  of  true  and  noble 
civilization.  In  just  such  ])roportion  as  these  men's  sum  of  exact  knowl- 
edge is  increased  does  their  capacity  to  feel  and  enjoy,  in  a  word,  be  human, 
grow  less.  The  opposite  should  be  true,  and  would  be,  were  it  not  for 
their  partially  successful  and  deplorable  attempt  to  throttle  imagination. 
Meaningless  facts,  the  husks  of  culture  furnish  them,  and  the  "science" 
of  such  husks  ultimately  becomes  pedagogy  in  a  most  baneful  form,  that 
in  which  it  assumes  not  only  to  teach  how  to  teach,  but  to  teach  all  sub- 
jects which  can  be  taught,  art  unhappily  inchided.  For  this  we  have 
Germany  from  1870  on,  to  thank;  not  the  Germany  of  Lessing  and  Goethe. 
But,  and  far  more  important,  it  is  this  condition  which  we  have  to  change. 

[  13  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving' 

And  yet  it  is  not  the  act  of  sanity  or  reason,  to  undervalue  or  sneer 
at  the  material  side  of  art  any  more  than  at  the  material  side  of  life.  For 
our  present  purpose  the  materialist  is  the  man  who,  in  his  avowals  and  his 
acts,  seems — it  is  doubtful  if  any  man  ever  really  does  completely — to 
deny  the  use  and  the  worth,  alike,  of  all  art  which  does  not  have  a  mecha- 
nistic end.  The  visionary,  he  may  be  artist,  even  great  artist,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  the  man  who  disregards,  either  heedlessly  or  willfully,  the  ever- 
lasting fact  that  thought  is  a  thing  of  small  use  to  the  man  who  has  it,  and 
of  no  use  at  all  to  other  men,  until  it  is  given  a  body  to  be  seen  and  known 
of  men,  and  to  be  delighted  in  by  men.  That  this  body  be  adequate,  or 
approximately  so,  implies  a  thorough  understanding  of  its  ingredients ;  of 
the  laws  governing  them ;  of  their  adaptability  to  their  peculiar  ends.  And 
so,  too,  those  of  us  who  care  for  art  in  many,  or  in  any  of  its  forms,  will 
get  vastly  increased  returns  for  our  pains  and  study  of  it  if  we  give  heed, 
little,  if  not  much,  to  the  material  side  of  the  particular  art  in  question  at 
the  moment.  It  was  a  wise  critic  as  well  as  a  wise  woman,  and  a  great 
artist  in  her  way,  who  put  these  words  into  the  mouth  of  Daniel  Deronda : 
"AVe  should  have  a  poor  time  of  it  if  we  were  reduced  for  all  our  pleasures 
to  our  own  performances.  A  little  private  imitation  of  what  is  good  is  a 
sort  of  private  devotion  to  it,  and  most  of  us  ought  to  practice  art  only  in 
the  light  of  private  study — preparation  to  understand  and  enjoy  what  the 
few  can  do  for  us. ' ' 

There  is  one  other  general  matter  to  which  some  attention  must  be 
given  before  coming  to  our  specific  subject.  Works  of  art,  the  greatest, 
are  not  always  beautiful,  but  all  works  of  art,  in  degree  as  they  are  great, 
must  be  satisfying  or  beautiful.  An  ugly  subject,  even  a  vile  one,  may 
be  as  fit  for  art  as  the  loveliest.  The  painful,  even  disgusting,  passages  of 
Dante's  Hell  are  lasting  poetry,  as  well  as  the  exquisite  passages  of  his 
Paradise.  There  is  awful  but  stupendous  art  in  Michelangelo's  "Judg- 
ment," and  unutterable  suffering,  almost  uttered,  in  Rubens's  "Taking 
Down  from  the  Cross,"  just  as  there  is  surpassing  beauty  in  Sir  Joshua's 
little  "Samuel,"  or  his  incomparable  "Mrs.  Siddons. "  The  (piiet  lap  of 
water  on  the  shore  is  lovely.  The  sea  breaking  up  from  its  depths  and 
swallowing  the  dead  is  awful,  but  sublime.  The  art  of  it  all  is  in  the 
understanding,  reverent,  awed,  and  adoring  soul  of  the  artist,  and  in  the 
amount  of  adoration,  awe,  and  reverence  which  he  contrives  to  put  into  his 
work.      It  is  the  business  of  art  to  go  to  the  very  heart  of  grandeur  and 

[  14  ] 


Introduction 

mediocrity  tilike,  and,  finding  both  to  be  intensely  interesting,  make  them 
known  as  such  to  men  not  possessed  of  the  power  of  seeing  to  the  heart  of 
many  things,  or  perhaps  of  anything.  The  true  artist  is  the  man  who  has 
the  utmost  insight  and  sympathy,  joined  to  the  utmost  powers  of  ex])res- 
sion.  He  is  the  man  who  can  in\'est  for  us  the  most  ordinary  things  of 
every  day  with  extraordinary  meaning.  He  redeems  the  commonphice  by 
showing  men  that  there  is  nothing  commonplace.  In  other  words,  he 
annihilates  the  commonplace  by  showing  it  to  be  a  figment  of  the  human 
mind.  It  is  just  this  that  the  Dutchmen,  led  by  Rembrandt  and  Ruisdael, 
did  for  homely  Flemish  landscape,  broad  meadows,  broader  skies,  and  toss- 
ing seas ;  farmhouse  and  barn,  sleek  cattle,  windmill,  and  shipping.  This, 
that  Claude  and  Corot  did  for  Italy  and  France ;  for  the  ruins  of  classic 
civilization,  in  the  garden  of  the  empire  where  it  was  born,  and  lived,  and 
died,  though  not  before  it  had  scattered  the  seeds  of  beauty  and  significance 
over  Europe  and  sown  them  as  far  as  England.  This,  that  Turner, 
Whistler,  and  many  more  did  for  everyday  English  countryside,  its  pretty 
fields  and  hills;  its  quiet  streams  and  "blown  seas";  the  softly  running 
Thames  of  Spenser.  In  pictorial  art  Turner's  "Blair  Athol"  is  a  counter- 
part of  the  muddy  Thames,  making  its  sordid  way — not  sordid  to  Whistler — 
under  Battersea  Bridge.  The  builders  of  Battersea  made  a  useful  bridge. 
Whistler's  painting  made  an  eternal  bridge  of  it;  eternal  under  time,  as 
Sir  Thomas  l^rowne  would  say.  And  all  these  men,  these  artists  and 
numberless  more,  were  engravers  and  made  use  of  engraving  in  one  form 
or  another  for  recording  permanently  what  they  had  to  say.  It  is  these 
records,  prints  we  call  them,  drawings  really,  their  origins  and  development 
technically,  their  meaning  and  value  artistically,  on  the  worldly  and 
unworldly  side,  which  form  the  subject  of  this  book. 

Raphael  Morghen,  "one  of  the  last  of  the  great  engravers,"  as  Keppel 
in  his  very  useful  and  highly  entertaining  book  on  engraving  calls  him, 
died  in  1833.  Six  years  later,  in  1839,  Daguerre  announced  the  discover}' 
of  photography  to  the  world.  It  is  not  easy  to  agree  with  Keppel  when 
we  recall  the  fact  that  the  volumes  of  Rogers's  "  Poems  "  and  "  Italy  "' 
appeared  in  1834,  the  year  after  Morghen's  death;  books  full,  like  many 
others  which  appeared  during  the  two  succeeding  decades,  of,  in  some 
respects,  the  most  extraordinary  engraving  ever  done;  work  over  the 
names  of  Finden,  Wilmore,  Goodhall,  Charles  Turner,  Miller,  Le  Keux, 
and  many  more.      Keppel  further  remarks  that  today,  four  centuries  after 

[  15  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

the  golden  age  of  engraving  dawned  ui)on  the  world,  "the  ray  of  light 
which  prints  its  image  upon  the  sensitive  plate  of  the  camera  falls  aslant 
upon  the  fading  glory  of  engraving. "  This  somewhat  mournful  note,  or 
theme,  in  many  minds  becomes  a  dirge,  and  so  entirely  that  one  not 
infrequently  hears  engra\  ing  called  a  dead  art.  Finally,  many  persons  are 
of  the  opinion  that  photography  gave  engraving  its  death  thrust.  Some 
bemoan  this  supposed  fact.  Others,  more  perhaps,  glory  in  it.  Neither 
party  is  wholh^  right,  for,  while  one  may  be  an  intense  lover  of  engraving, 
he  should  remain  heartily  thankful  for  the  accomplishments  of  photog- 
raphy. They  are  no  more  hostile  to  each  other  than  pure  science  and 
great  art.  They  are  utterly  separate ;  as  much  divided  from  each  other 
as  things  can  be  that  in  one  case  derive  their  whole  value  from  "funda- 
mental brain  work,"  the  foundation  of  art,  as  Rossetti  expressed  it;  in  the 
other  case  are  the  visible,  no  matter  how  wonderful,  expressions  of 
mechanical  contrivance;  mechanical  ingenuity.  Imagination,  that  power 
of  the  human  mind  which  is  "  inpoured  at  birth,  and  can  be  had  through 
no  human  willing,"  Wordsworth's  "awful  power,"  is  that,  and  always 
that,  which  in  the  last  reaction  can  level  the  barriers  of  time  and  space, 
reaching  beyond  the  telegraph,  beyond  the  telescope,  laying  open  the 
domain  of  thought,  past,  present,  and  to  come.  It  is  this  power  of  the 
mind,  seizing  hold  upon  the  facts  which  our  senses  gather,  their  meaning 
lit  up,  so  to  speak,  by  the  "auxiliar  light  of  the  inner  mind,"  which  alone 
truly  illumines  the  spirits  of  men;  on  one  hand,  by  new  mechanical  con- 
trivances, lessening  "the  tasked  burden  of  the  weary  world,"  applied 
science  and  mechanic  art;  on  the  other,  by  discovering  beauty,  to  add 
"fresh  lustre  to  the  day,"  and,  in  the  forms  of  art,  create  those  things 
wdiich,  not  practically  useful,  are  none  the  less  indispensable  for  the  spir- 
itual content  and  well-being  of  really  intelligent  and  civilized  men — 
poetry,  music,  and  drawing  as  such,  or  in  the  form  of  engraving.  It  is 
literally  true  that  "in  nature  beauty  dies,  in  art  never";  that  beauty  is 
essential  to  human  happiness  and  that  art  is  the  preserver  and  expounder 
as  w^ell  as  the  creator  of  beauty. 

There  are  no  dead  arts.  No  art  can  die  that  ever  was  alive ;  meaning 
by  aliA^e,  giving  utterance  to  thoughts  of  vital  import  to  the  race,  fearful 
or  beautiful.  The  processes  of  art  can  die  and  do.  The  materials  of  art 
can  perish  and  must.  Practice  and  methods  may  change,  and  always 
have,  but  the  vital  meanings  of  life  and  nature  are  forever  new,  though 

[  16  ] 


Introduction 

essentially  unchanging.  So  Helen  of  Troy  retains  her  youth,  immortal; 
so  the  Venus  of  Melos;  so  Francesca  da  Rimini  and  Beatrice;  and  no  less 
Leonardo's  Christ  in  "The  I>ast  Supper,"  Raphael's  "Mother  and  Child" 
of  the  Sistine  Madonna,  Beethoven's  choral  breaking  out  in  that  tran- 
scendent finale  of  "  The  Ninth  Sj^iiphony,"  when,  on  a  sudden,  the  music 
seems  taken  up  by  heaven, — the  business  of  art  is  to  bring  heavenly  beauty 
to  the  eyes  and  ears  of  earth;  Bach's  "Passion,"  Handel's  "Dead  March 
in  Saul,"  Tintoret's  "Crucifixion,"  Rubens's  "Descent";  things  all 
equally  outside  the  realm  of  science,  yet,  like  it,  resting  their  existence 
on  truth  and  risking  all  for  her,  the  essence  of  which  is  uttered  reverence ; 
the  reverence  of  religion,  not  of  theology;  the  thing  meant  when,  looking 
at  a  wonderful  dancer,  Margaret  Fuller  said  to  Emerson,  "Ralph,  it  is 
poetry,"  and  he  returned,  "Margaret,  it  is  religion"  ;  what  Ruskin  meant 
when  he  declared  all  great  art  to  be  praise.  With  such  art,  mechanical 
contrivances  can  no  more  cope  than  the  singing  machine  or  the  player  with 
a  Patti  or  a  Paderewski.  The  point  is  that  mechanical  art  does  not  really 
try  to  cope.  It  is  only  those  who  do  not  know  the  difference  between  it 
and  that  other  art,  which  for  lack  of  a  better  word  we  call  fine,  who 
imagine  that  it  tries.  Photography  has  never,  in  the  hands  or  minds  of 
people  who  really  know  about  the  facts  in  the  case,  attempted  rivalry  with 
engraving.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  man  hardy  enough  to  maintain 
that  Rembrandt's  etched  landscapes,  or  Whistler's,  have  been  approached, 
not  to  say  equalled,  by  photogra])hy.  It  is  vulgar  to  point  out  the  fact 
that  where  one  would  bring  a  few  dollars  at  most,  the  others  will  any  day 
fetch  hundreds  and  thousands.  Further,  it  is  stu])id  to  argue  about  the 
obvious.  Finally,  it  would  be,  is,  grossly  uncritical,  as  well  as  ungen- 
erous, to  disregard  or  abuse  photogra])hy,  one  of  the  boons  bestowed  by 
the  application  of  science  upon  daily  life;  one,  i)robably  the  greatest,  mod- 
ern factor  for  disseminating  knowledge  of  the  highest  forms  of  art.  In- 
stead of  thinking  of  Daguerre  as  the  destroyer  of  the  art  of  engraving, 
hence,  in  a  measure,  of  drawing,  he  should  be  looked  on  as  its  preserver 
and  expositor.  But  none  the  less  does  photography  stand  outside  the 
charmed  circle  of  the  fine  arts. 

In  one  or  other  of  its  forms  engraving — what  Ruskin  in  a  moment  of 
didactic  inspiration  called  multiplied  drawing — has  been  the  medium 
chosen  by  many  of  the  greatest  men  for  the  expression  of  their  thought, 
from  the  time  of  Holbein,  Diirer,  and  Raphael  through  the  age  of  Claude 

[  n  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

and  Rembrandt,  later  Reynolds  and  Turner,  down  to  Whistler,  not  to 
mention  the  names  of  living  men.  It  is  thus  that  engraving  stands  in 
relation  to  painting,  music,  poetry,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  to  name 
the  most  important  of  the  fine  arts;  i.e.,  as  an  art,  like  them,  dependent 
upon  imagination  and  reason;  an  art  capable  of  stating  facts,  and  setting 
those  facts,  vital  and  natural,  in  their  true  relation  to  beauty,  grandeur, 
awfulness,  and  even  prettiness;  to  convey  knowledge,  and  to  gloss  mean- 
ing, and  all  with  a  technique  which  in  itself  is  beautiful. 


[   18  ] 


CHAPTER    r. 


DRAWING    AND    ENGRAVING 


A  HE  life  and  dignity  of  all  pictures  derive  primarily  from  outline  draw- 
ing. It  is  the  first  essential  of  truth-telling  about  the  subject  depicted, 
and,  be  it  remembered,  all  good  drawing  is  truth-telling  by  means  of  lines, 
just  as  all  good  writing  and  speaking  are  truth-telling  by  means  of  words; 
signs  signifying  definite  intellectual  concepts  in  one  and  the  otiier  case 
equally.  An  obvious  fact,  yet  one  almost  universally  unheeded  in  this 
connection,  and  especially  by  teachers  of  drawing,  is  that  of  spatial  rela- 
tions in  the  most  literal  sense.  For  example,  two  apples  set  side  by  side, 
or  two  heads,  or  any  of  the  main  masses  which  com])ose  a  picture,  how- 
ever intricate,  must  first  be  outlined  as  individuals.  Most  ])eople  seem  to 
think  that  it  is  enough  if  the  right  shape  be  got,  and  so  of  course  it  is ;  but 
these  same  people  rarely  recognize  this  further  fact  that  the  spaces  between 
head  and  head,  apple  and  apple,  are  also  shapes  and  must  be  drawn  accu- 
rately. To  draw  the  spaces  accurately  means  having  drawn  the  objects 
accurately,  and  vice  versa.  To  look  first  at  one,  and  then  at  the  other, 
and  to  get  the  results  to  tally  is,  in  a  manner,  analogous  to  adding  a  column 
of  figures  first  up  and  then  down, — not  a  parallel,  but  an  analogy;  an 
analogy  in  which  much  help  exists  for  him  who  does  not  know  it,  and  so 
much  obviousness  for  him  who  does  that  he  is  apt  to  assume  that  every  one 
knows  it.  The  assumption  that  every  one  knows  certain  illuminating 
facts  which  seem  obvious  to  the  expert,  artist,  art  teacher,  or  art  critic, 
whether  it  be  in  connection  with  children  or  grown  people,  is  the  negation 
alike  of  advancing  the  practice  and  the  appreciation  of  art.  It  is  not  to 
be  assumed  that  this  mode  of  procedure  in  regard  to  spatial  relations,  as 
here  defined,  can  be  carried  very  far.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  it  is  a 
mode  of  procedure  which  can  be  carried  much  further  than  it  usually  is;  a 
very  valuable  mode  of  procedure  because  it  implies  a  keen-eyed  and  clear- 

[  19  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 


\  \    1 


Fig.  2.      Pencil  Drawing.      William  Blake. 


minded  start.      It  matters  not  in  the  least  whether  it  be  the  start  of  prac- 
titioner or  appreciator  of  art. 

What  has  been  said  is  equally  applicable  whether  the  subject  be  that 
which  the  artist's  eye  actually  sees,  that  which  his  hand  even  can  touch 
and  measure,  material  reality  so-called,  or  that  which  the  mind  feels  and 
thinks;  what  maj^  for  want  of  a  better  term,  and  by  way  of  explaining 
the  antithesis  involved,  be  spoken  of  as  spiritual  reality.  The  question 
resolves  itself  into  a  distinction  between  actual  matter  and  the  significance 
which  such  matter  assumes  when  thought  about  intelligently,  and  felt 
about  deeply.  The  great  artist,  the  genius,  deals  with  both  these  aspects 
of  the  question.  The  rank  and  file  of  artists,  the  man  of  talent,  deals  only 
with  one  aspect.  The  same  holds  of  the  critic  class,  from  veriest  layman 
to  expert.  I  do  not  say  that  many  artists  who  produce  things  which  are 
both  useful  and  delightful  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  latter  class,  that  of 
the  talented.  Sad  would  it  be  were  this  not  true.  But  it  is  far  sadder, 
in  the  long  run  of  life,  not  to  learn  to  recognize  the  pole- wide  difference 
between  the  works  of  men  of  talent  and  those  of  the  man  of  genius,  for  in 

[  20  ] 


Drawing"  and  Engraving 


Fig.  3.      The  Parthenon  Frieze. 

the  work  of  the  latter  only  is  ever-increasing  and  permanent  inspiration  to 
be  found. 

When  we  have  made  sure  of  our  bearings  thus  far,  either  as  draughts- 
man, artist,  critic, — we  should  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  every  man  is 
potentially  both  critic  and  artist,  i.e.,  sure  as  to  the  fundamental  impor- 
tance which  attaches  to  outline  drawing,  in  and  of  itself, — we  must,  if  we 
are  to  take  another  step  along  the  via  critica,  consider  truths  which  are  over 
and  above  those  which  outline  alone  can  tell.  In  other  words,  we  must 
begin  to  think  about  the  parts  which  go  to  make  up  the  whole;  what  are 
known  as  details.  For  example,  in  Blake's  drawing  (Fig.  2)  we  behold 
a  portrayal  of  nature  in  one  of  its  essential  aspects.  Quite  apart  from  any 
specific  value  which  attaches  to  the  lines,  as  such,  of  this  fine  drawing,  is 
the  dominating  idea  of  a  certain  sensuous  dignity  and  a  sweet,  yet  power- 
ful, gentleness  of  demeanor  which  Blake  has  infused  into  the  subject.  It 
is  just  that  which  makes  this  a  truly  great  drawing  and  separates  it  from  a 
possible  hundred  others  which,  at  first  glance,  may  appear  to  be  its  equals. 
What  we  really  have  here  is  the  true  picture  of  a  state  of  mind,  expressed 

[  21  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

by  an  actiuil  arrangement  of  draperies  governed  from  within  by  the  move- 
ments of  the  human  bodies  which  they  clothe,  and  which  they  not  only 
clothe  but  reveal.  From  this  quiet  rhj^thm  of  lines,  each  one  as  clearly 
intended  from  the  start  as  the  very  best  of  Angelo's  or  Diirer's ;  as  firm  and 
fully  vitalized,  and  of  the  same  sort  as  the  lines  in  the  very  best  figures  of  the 
Parthenon  frieze  (Fig.  3);  from  thijs  quiet  rhythm  of  lines  there  springs  an 
all-compelling  sense  of  the  artist's  intention,  which  was  not  the  mere  crea- 


Fig.  4.      Mer  de  Glace.      J.  M.  W.  Turner. 

tion  of  a  line  rhythm,  but  a  far  greater  thing,  namely,  the  portrayal  of 
the  mighty  significance,  the  fact  of  that  spiritual  beauty  which  pertains 
to  the  physical  dignity  of  man  at  his  best.  It  is  this,  and  this  alone,  on 
which  genius  always  focuses  its  every  effort  and  which,  in  its  best  ac- 
complishment, the  immortal  things  of  art,  it  always  attains.  The  specific 
subject  does  not  matter.  It  may  vary  as  widely  as  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
the  utmost  seasons,  the  remotest  races,   God  and  the  devil ;  the  Sistine 

[  22  ] 


Drawing-  and  Engraving' 

Adam;  Diirer's  St.  Paul  in  "The  Four  Apostles"  at  Dresden;  the  Par- 
thenon Theseus;  those  consummate  Buddhas  of  the  ancient  East,  carved 
or  painted ;  those  trees,  beyond  which  drawing  of  trees  has  not  gone,  at 
the  left  side  of  Turner's  "Blair  Athol"  (Fig.  67). 

A  point  to  be  borne  in  mind  is  this.  The  subject  for  a  great  picture, 
painting,  engraving,  drawing,  need,  in  no  sense,  be  taken  from  what  we 
are  still  too  apt  to  regard  as  the  only  important  source,  Aristotle's  man  in 
action  under  stress  of  emotion.     Nature,  wholly  apart  from  man,  likewise 


4 


hu%n 


Fig.  5.      The  Great  Wave.      Hokusai. 

offers  subjects  of  the  first  importance.  Majesty  does  not  pertain  to  hu- 
manity alone.  The  making  this  fact  evident  through  works  has  been  the 
splendid  gift  which,  taken  in  the  broadest  sense,  the  art  of  the  modern 
world  has  bestowed.  The  mountains  are  full  of  such  subjects  and  not  less 
the  sea.  The  least  blade  of  grass,  stem  of  bloom,  and  giant  tree.  So,  too, 
the  sky  of  ceaselessly  changeful  mood,  down  across  which  fall  the  long  lines 
of  rain,  and  the  rays  of  light  which  are  the  measureless  lines  of  immeasurable 
space. 

[  23  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

"Over  the  lonesome  sand  the  ocean  draws  a  fold 
Of  silver,  starry,  wide, 
Embroidered  with  the  moon, 
The  mantle  of  the  tide. ' ' 

Turner's  "Mer  de  Glace"  (Fig.  4),  Hokusai's  "Great  AVave"  (Fig. 
5),  Sagakudo's  "Rose  and  Honeysuckle"  (Fig.  G),  and  Rembrandt's 
"Three  Trees"  (Fig.  54),  are  as  much  the  witnesses  to  greatness  as  those 
already  mentioned. 

To  return  now  to  the  parts  of  the  w^hole,  those  details  of  a  picture  to 
which  even  the  inost  uncritical  critic  and  the  poorest  artist  give  such  heed 
as  they  can.  AVhat  are  they  and  what  is  tlieir  purpose,  and  what  limits, 
if  any,  condition  their  value?  All  detail  may  be  divided,  for  convenience' 
sake,  into  two  main  classes,  internal  and  external.  Internal  detail  would 
include  every  touch,  whether  of  light  and  shade,  or  for  adding  to  the  sum 
of  reported  fact ;  touches  of  light  and  shade  which  give  form  and  the  look 
of  reality  to  draperies,  let  us  say,  or  which  tell  us  about  their  pattern, — every 
touch,  for  whatsoever  purpose,  which  is  set  within  the  outline,  that  first 
truth-telling  about  the  subject  which  we  have  already  considered.  All 
detail  within  the  bounding  line  which  may  be  the  description  of  a  man's 
head,  the  body  of  a  beast,  the  fleecy  mound  of  a  cloud,  the  imponderable 
mass  of  a  great  billow,  or  any  other  thing  in  heaven  or  earth,  is  put  there 
with  the  intent  of  adding  to  the  artist's  ultimate  expression  of  truth  as  his 
picture  shall  convey  truth  to  the  world,  and  continue  to  do  so  throughout 
the  ages. 

External  detail,  on  the  other  hand,  means  every  touch  which  helps  to 
complete  both  the  foreground  and  background  of  the  subject  as  a  whole. 
For  example,  the  comet,  the  rainbow  and  the  dread  creature  bearing  the  leg- 
end in  the  mid-sky  of  Diirer's  mystically  magnificent  "Melancholia"  (Fig. 
34) ;  all  the  tools  of  labor  and  of  art,  even  the  lamb  and  the  cryptic  numbers ; 
these,  and  many  more,  are  external  details  to  that  woman  of  incomparable 
mould,  thoughtful  beyond  wont,  the  heart  of  this  famous  subject.  How- 
ever, in  this  connection  we  should  not  forget  that  it  is  often  impossible  to 
make  hard  and  fast  distinctions  between  interior  and  exterior  detail,  for  the 
reason  that  many  pictures,  landscapes  in  particular,  admit  of  no  certain 
decision  as  to  what  is  the  heart  of  them,  the  central  and  dominant  subject, 
as  in  the  "Melancholia"  or  Martin  Schongauer's  "Christ  Appearing  to  the 

[  24  ] 


Drawing  and  Engraving 

Magdalen"  (Fig.  26).  Sometimes,  often  in  landscapes,  Turner's  "Dumblain 
Abbey"  (Fig.  65),  for  example,  light,  distance,  even  space  itself,  forms  the 
true  subject;  subject  wholly  dependent  upon  innumerable  objects, — trees, 
the  ruin,  distant  bridge  and  hills,  each,  in  itself,  a  matter  of  detail,  but  neither 


Fig.  6.      Japanese  Print.      Sagakudo. 

external  nor  internal,  the  subject  made  evident  only  by  its  effect  upon 
these  details.  An  analogy  is  to  be  seen  in  the  life  of  a  willow,  life  itself 
invisible  but  made  evident  by  reddening  stems  in  late  winter,  silvery  bloom 
of  early  spring,  green  leaves  of  late ;  these  facts,  details,  known  for  certain 
to  the  senses  of  sight  and  touch,  the  sure  evidence  of  that  something  more 

[  25  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

important  still  which  we  call  life ;  intangible,  invisible.  Accepting  this 
fact  of  the  inseparability  of  the  subject,  or  heart  of  a  picture,  from  the 
minor  and  often  uncountable  parts  which  together  make  up  the  whole 
picture;  and  being  always  prepared  to  meet  with  pictures,  often  the  great- 
est, in  which  no  sharp  alignment  of  this  sort  can  be  made,  we  shall,  none 
the  less,  find  the  distinction  between  external  and  internal  detail  extremely 
useful  for  purposes  of  criticism,  whether  elementary  or  advanced. 

For  all  ordinary  purposes,  drawing  may  be  defined  as  the  producing 
of  a  picture,  by  means  of  lines,  whether  the  bald  outline  such  as  a  child 
will  make  for  conveying  the  fact  that  an  apple  is  a  round  fruit  and  has  a 
stem,  or  such  an  outline  filled  in  by  an  adept  draughtsman  with  endless 
minute  and  delicate  touches  which  give  the  appearance  of  convexity,  to- 
gether with  a  record  of  the  least  irregularity  of  surface  and  the  subtlest 
variations  of  hue ;  pale  touches  for  the  yellow  and  darker  for  the  red.  The 
word  draw  means  to  drag,  or  to  move  towards  oneself,  a  tool  which  leaves 
a  mark  behind  it,  preeminently  the  lead  pencil.  It  may  be  said  that  all 
drawing  consists  of  two  parts,  following  the  clear  distinction  of  the  Romans, 
who  had  a  word  for  each  part  and  from  whom  we  have  inherited  a  word 
for  each:  Delineare;  de,  'from';  and  linea,  'line';  to  represent  by  line; 
our  'to  delineate,'  'to  outline.'  Their  other  word,  adumhrare,  means  to 
shade  and  make  shadow;  'adumbrate'  is  our  word;  it  means  drawing  in 
chiaroscuro,  or  by  means  of  light  and  shade;  i.e.,  giving  the  appearance 
of  convexity  and  variation  of  surface  within  the  outline. 

The  Greek  words  ypacfteiv,  'to  draw,'  'to  write,'  and  ypacfyt],  'a  draw- 
ing,' 'a  picture,'  from  which  comes  our  word  graphic,  pictorial,  i.e.,  made 
with  the  instrument  by  which  writing  is  done,  a  pencil  or  pen,  point  to 
those  remote  days  when  writing  and  drawing  were  one ;  the  ancient  days  of 
Egyptian  hieroglyphics  or  picture-writing ;  the  picture  of  a  bird  when  the 
idea  of  a  bird  was  to  be  conveyed,  by  means  of  marks  on  sheets  of  papyrus, 
or  slabs  of  basalt.  And  once  more,  in  medieval  days,  writing  and  drawing 
again  became  virtually  one,  as  is  plain  to  all  who  are  acquainted  with 
thirteenth-  and  fourteenth- century  French  missals  or  the  yet  earlier  books 
of  the  Near  East,  for  example,  those  written  or  drawn  by  the  skillful  Arabs. 
And  that  this  idea  still  has  much  of  life  in  it  is  proved  by  a  comment  of 
Huxley  in  his  "Technical  Education."  "Still  everybody,  or  almost 
everybody  can  learn  to  write  and  as  writing  is  a  kind  of  drawing  I  suppose 
.     the  majority  of  people  could  draw. "     With  this  much  by  way  of 

[  26  ] 


Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

a  definition  of  what  drawing  is,  and  means,  the  what  of  the  whole  matter, 
we  are  next  confronted  by  that  other  question  which  all  endeavor  raises 
for  the  thoughtful,  i.e.,  the  how. 

The  how,  in  connection  with  drawing,  means  technique.  It  may  be 
said  that  technique  consists  of  two  parts.  There  is  the  technique  of  the 
tools.  For  example,  the  way  of  handling  a  pencil  so  that  it  will  make 
marks  light  or  dark,  dots  or  lines,  and  lines  continuous  or  broken,  as  the 
draughtsman  wishes.  And  there  is  the  technique  of  the  drawing  itself, 
that  look  which  is  the  peculiar  and  necessary  result  of  the  draughtsman's 
having  manipulated  his  tool,  the  pencil,  in  precisely  the  way  that  he  did. 
The  piano  player's  technique  consists  of  the  way  in  which  he  strikes  the 
keys,  i.e.,  his  'touch,''  whereas  the  technique  of  the  music  he  produces 
is  quite  another  thing,  being  the  expression  of  his  sympathy  with,  hence 
power  to  interpret,  the  music  as  it  was  written  by,  for  instance,  Beethoven. 
Between  drawing  and  playing  there  is,  in  this  particular  respect  at  least, 
a  close  analogy.  Thackeray,  in  "Vanity  Fair,"  speaks  both  clearly  and 
to  the  point  when  he  says:  "To  use  a  cue  at  billiards  well  is  like  using  a 
pencil  or  a  German  flute,  or  a  small  sword  [all  tools,  mark].  You  cannot 
master  [mastery  means  good  technique]  any  one  of  these  implements  at 
first  and  it  is  only  by  repeated  study  and  perseverance,  joined  to  a  natural 
taste,  that  a  man  can  excel  in  handling  either. ' ' 

It  should  be  remarked  that  there  are  many  other  tools  used  by  the 
draughtsman  besides  the  pencil,  in  the  class  with  which  would  be  included 
pens,  crayons,  chalk  sticks,  and  many  more.  There  are,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  two  classes  of  draughtsman's  tools,  namely,  pencils  and  such  as  are 
similar,  the  free-hand  tools,  and  compasses,  rules,  T  s(iuares,  triangles,  and 
others  of  this  sort,  the  mechanical  tools.  The  distinction  between  the  two  is 
this :  free-hand  tools  are  those  which  impose  no  mechanical  instrument — 
compasses  for  making  a  perfect  circle,  by  way  of  illustration — between  the 
draughtsman's  hand  and  the  paper  on  which  the  drawing  is  to  be  made. 
Mechanical  tools  are  those  which  do  so  impose  a  mechanical  instrument ; 
for  example,  the  rule  which  is  laid  upon  the  paper  and  along  which  the 
pencil  is  drawn  in  order  to  produce  the  perfectly  or  mechanically  straight 
line.  Upon  the  distinction  between  these  two  classes  of  tools  rests  the 
distinction  between  what  is  called  free-hand  drawing  and  what  is  known  as 
mechanical  drawing ;  the  former  being  the  work  of  an  artist ;  the  latter, 
that  of  a  professional  draughtsman,  machine  designer,  carpenter  or  plumber. 

[  27  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving" 

The  artist,  the  man  who  is  alwaj^s  outHning  or  drawing  objects  from  nature, 
hill  contours,  leaf  forms  or  cloud  shapes,  the  features  of  men  and  women, 
the  form  of  the  human  body  or  the  likenesses  of  animals,  is  always  dealing 
with  that  which  is  never  mechanical  and  even  when  most  symmetrical  is 
never  exactly  alike  on  both  sides.  In  other  words,  the  artist  is  always 
trying  to  represent  that  which  is  endlessly  varied,  for  endless  variation  is 
the  prime  characteristic  of  what  is  natural,  or  God-created.  Are  there 
mechanicall}^  perfect  circles  in  nature;  mechanically  straight  lines?  All 
such  are,  in  a  word,  unnatural,  and  it  is  upon  nature  that  the  artist 
rests  his  entire  cause.  "From  nature  doth  emotion  come,"  and,  as  all 
know,  emotion  is  the  soul  of  every  great  work  of  art ;  emotion  bridled  by 
reason.  But  the  man  who  makes  working  drawings  for  the  wheels  and 
bars  of  an  engine,  as  he  intends  to  require  perfect  circles  and  absolutely 
straight  edges  of  the  steelsmith  who  shall  follow  his  drawings  and,  so  to 
speak,  translate  them  into  material  existence,  will  demand  perfect  circles 
and  absolutely  straight,  in  other  words,  mechanically  perfect  lines  in  his 
own  drawing.  To  get  such  he  must  have  recourse  to  mechanical  instru- 
ments, rule  and  compass.  The  very  tools  which  will  give  him  what  he 
needs  if  used  by  the  artist  ruin  the  latter's  work.  That  slight  but  ceaseless 
change  of  direction  which,  through  the  seeing  eye,  the  thinking  mind  be- 
holds in  the  bounding  lines  of  whatever  object  it  chooses  to  depict  from 
nature,  and  demands  shall  be  reproduced  as  far  as  may  be  in  its  depiction, 
is  only  possible  when  the  instrument  is,  as  a  lead  pencil  or  similar  tool, 
deftly  and  sensitively  held  in  the  fingers.  Then  and  then  only  is  it  possi- 
ble for  the  mind  to  enforce  its  dictates.  For  examjile,  the  lead  point  at 
the  end  of  the  compass  is  not  at  the  mind's  behest.  The  mind  in  this  case 
has  abdicated,  so  to  speak,  to  the  mechanical  instrument.  This  is  right  for 
making  the  drawing  of  a  wheel,  but  it  is  useless  and  wrong  for  laying  off 
those  subtly  changeful  curves  which  bound  a  well-developed  human  body, 
or  outlining  a  wave  of  the  sea.  What  of  the  man  who  should  take  com- 
passes to  copy  Diirer's  "Adam  and  Eve"  (Fig.  3.5),  or  Hokusai's  "Great 
Wave"  (Fig.  5)?  And,  more,  what  of  one  who  should  undertake  to  draw 
such  subjects  direct  from  nature  with  dividers  and  straight  edge?  In  free- 
hand drawing,  the  drawing  of  an  artist,  the  lie  plus  ultra  consists  of  accurate 
representation  of  endlessly  changeful  form  by  a  pencil  held  in  the  pulsating, 
therefore  unsteady,  human  hand  under  the  maximum  of  muscular  control 
and  mental  dictation.      It  is  not  that  free-hand  drawing  is  good  and  mechan- 

[  28  ] 


Drawing-  and  Engraving" 

ical  bad,  but  that  each  has  a  place  of  its  own  and,  in  the  other's  phice,  is,  and 
must  be,  bad.  It  all  comes  down  to  the  fundamental  fact  that  nature  is 
never  mechanical  in  her  outward  evidences  and  it  is  these  outward  evidences, 
the  visible  world,  with  which  art  deals,  whereas  the  human  mind  is  or  has 
become  largely  mechanical  and  a  great  part  of  its  expression,  the  visible 
evidence  of  its  existence,  machines  for  example,  must  of  necessity  be  me- 
chanical. At  least  so  it  seems  in  our  mechanistic  time.  The  pith  of  all 
this  is  nicely  summed  up  by  Delacroix  in  one  of  his  notebooks. 

"There  are  some  lines  which  are  monstrous;  the  straight  line;  the 
regular  serpentine, — above  all  two  parallels.  When  man  creates  these  the 
elements  destroy  them.  Regular  lines  are  only  found  in  the  brain.  Then 
comes  the  charm  of  things  which  are  ancient  or  in  ruin ;  ruin  brings  the 
object  closer  to  nature." 

The  drawing  which  consists  of  outline  only,  and  that  other  drawing 
which,  within  the  outline,  adds  light  and  shade  by  means  of  many  minor 
touches  and  combinations  of  touches,  has  been  spoken  of.  There  is  a 
prevalent  idea,  Ruskin  gave  it  great  prestige  in  his  remarkable  and  most 
useful  book,  "The  Elements  of  Drawing,"  that  pure  outhnes  untouched 
by  shade  are  bad.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  any  one,  much  less 
a  man  so  fully  ac(iuainted  with  the  drawing  of  the  great  artists,  could  even 
propose  such  a  thesis.  He  says:  "And  therefore  the  rule  that  no  good 
drawing  can  exist  throughout  of  })ure  outline  remains  absolute. "  The  sin- 
gle example  of  Botticelli  as  he  appears  in  the  incomparably  masterful  draw- 
ings in  pure  outline  made  to  ilhistrate  the  "Divine  Comedy"  (Fig.  16),  is 
more  than  enough  to  refute  such  a  view.  But  it  is  none  the  less  true  that 
many  of  the  greatest  artists,  such  men  as  Raphael  and  Titian,  did  almost 
invariably  throw  a  veil  of  shade  over  parts  of  their  drawings.  And  yet  it  is 
to  be  remembered  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the  drawing 
which  is  done  as  a  means  to  an  end,  drawings  in  the  sense  of  preliminary 
studies  for  pictures,  for  paintings,  and  that  drawing  which  is  meant  to  be 
an  end  in  itself, — any  one  of  Botticelli's  for  the  "Divine  Comedy. "  Every 
one  of  the  drawings  which  comprise  the  Botticelli  set  is  a  miracle,  but  no 
single  one  is  more  of  a  miracle  tlian  that  which  shows  us  the  proud  bent 
low  beneath  heavy  weights  as  they  move  slowly  along  the  special  terrace 
allotted  to  their  sin  in  "Purgatory"  ;  particularly  that  portion  which  shows 
Dante  bending  down  to  talk  with  the  miniature  painter  of  Gubbio,  both 
going  forward  "with  equal  pace,  as  oxen  in  the  yoke."     Hamerton  speaks 

[  29  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

of  "the  accurate  use  of  line"  as  being  the  first  thing  necessary  to  learn. 
So  it  is,  but  not  less  is  it  the  thing  which  all  the  greatest  artists  exercise 
to  the  end.  Botticelli's  illustrations  offer  examples  of  the  "accurate  use 
of  line"  by  the  hundred.  But  every  one  of  them  has  the  invariable  attri- 
butes of  the  accurate  user  of  line ;  of  line  lifted  to  the  level  of  highest 
dignity,  namely,  beauty  inherent  in  itself  and  quite  apart  from  that  tran- 
scendent beauty  which  results  from  the  combining  of  the  many  to  make 
the  unified  whole  which  we  recognize  as  the  finished,  powerful  and  lovely 
drawing. 

These  invariable  qualities  are  an  even  thickness  throughout  the  entire 
length  of  the  line  with  none  of  that  laborious  yet  meaningless  shaded  effect 


f^^     S&£^  r— r 


-^  '^^"^rfTFTlir        ----- 


Fiof.  7.      The  Gold-weigher's  Field.      Rembrandt. 

of  old-fashioned  penmanship;  the  so-called  'hair'  and  'heavy''  lines  blending 
into  one  another.  Again,  the  same  depth  of  color  throughout  the  entire 
length  of  each  line  is  another  of  these  invariable  attributes.  Finally,  and 
most  important  of  all,  the  close  approach  to  straightness  throughout  the 
length  of  every  line,  rather  than  a  bellying  fullness.  What  look  to  be  curves 
when  examined  closely  turn  out  to  be  combinations  of  almost  but  not 
quite  straight  or,  geometrically  speaking,  right  lines.  In  other  words, 
the  drawing  of  the  best  men  is  a  matter  of  delicate  angles  rather  than  full 
or  loose  curves.  It  is  just  such  lines  that  Blake  uses  (Fig.  2),  and  Raphael 
in  his  "Lucretia"  (Fig.  38),  in  particular,  her  arms;  the  same  that  Diirer 
uses  in  the  "Melancholia"  (Fig.  34),  viz.,  the  feathers  of  her  wings;  the 
same  Rembrandt  uses  in  the  "Gold-weigher's  Field"  (Fig.  7).      It  is  the 

[  30  ] 


Drawing"  and  Engraving' 

sort  of  line  which  comprises  the  legs,  thighs,  torso,  arms,  and  heads  of 
such  a  Greek  statue  as  the  Hermes,  or  the  figures  of  the  Parthenon  frieze 
(Fig.  3);  and  not  less  the  sort  which  defines  the  echinus  of  every  one  of 
the  Parthenon  capitals  or  the  contours  of  fifth-century  Greek  vases,  to- 
gether with  the  subjects  drawn  upon  them.  No  man  has  spoken  more 
clearly  on  this  point  than  Birge  Harrison  when  he  says:  "Drawing 
is  the  grammar  of  art.  As  grammar  is  the  framework  on  which  all 
good  literature  is  built,  so  drawing  is  the  foundation  of  all  good  paint- 
ing. .  .  .  Fortunately,  both  grammar  and  drawing  may  be  learned 
by  anyone  of  good  average  intelligence.  In  reference  to  drawing,  how- 
ever, this  statement  applies  only  to  that  kind  of  good,  sound  common- 
place drawing  which  serves  to  uphold  a  picture  in  which  color  and  senti- 
ment are  the  main  things ;  but  not,  of  course,  to  the  truly  great  drawing 
which  is  beautiful  in  and  by  itself,  and  which  is  one  of  the  rarest  qualities 
in  all  art — so  rare  indeed  that  the  great  draughtsmen  of  the  world  can  be 
counted  upon  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Of  these  probably  Holbein  and 
Leonardo  were  the  most  eminent  examples.  In  the  work  of  these  two 
men  the  sense  of  refined  and  tender  line  was  so  exquisite  that  we  should 
almost  prefer  to  have  it  without  color."  In  fine,  it  is  the  line  of  life  and 
strength — life  because  curved,  i.e.,  always  changing,  and  strength, 
because  the  curving  is  always  held  in  firm  restraint. 

There  are  high  possibilities  for  beauty  in  lines,  quite  apart  from  any 
beauty  and  significance  which  they  may  take  in  combination  w4th  other 
lines,  just  as  there  is  in  a  patch  of  color  which  has  no  meaning  because  it 
is  not  in  the  shape  of  anything  to  which  we  attach  meaning,  as,  for  exam- 
ple, a  face,  a  flower,  or  a  leaf.  Such  lines,  for  lack  of  a  better  expression, 
may  be  called  free  lines.  They  should  not  be  confused  with  the  free-hand 
lines  already  discussed,  although  all  first-rate  free  lines  must  of  necessity 
be  free-hand  drawn — i.e.,  not  mechanical.  The  free  line  is  perhaps  the 
only  absolute  means  of  expressing  the  possible  grace,  strength  and  beauty 
of  abstract  thought  which  man  possesses.  Its  only  possible  rival  is  the 
musical  sound  or  note  uncombined  with  others  to  the  extent  even  of  mak- 
ing a  chord,  and  much  less  creating  a  theme.  As  offering  illustration  of 
the  free  line  nothing  surpasses  the  tails  of  capital  letters  such  as  were 
drawn  by  hundreds  in  the  missals,  breviaries,  and  manuscript  books  (Fig. 
8)  of  the  wonderful  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries. 

The  consummate  artist-draughtsman  is  he  who  uses  such  lines  as  have 

[  31  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

been  discussed,  whether  with  or  without  adding  shade  to  them.  It  often 
happens  in  the  end  that  shade  is  used  so  fully  as  to  conceal  all  lines,  as  such, 
leaving  to  the  beholder  naught  but  the  sense  of  the  solid  reality  of  one  ob- 
ject relieved  against  a  background  of  other  objects.     This  is  the  case  in 


ctotduaritmiUtutsiTicm  lilms  fiat^lu 
in  uat)  pmr  ]?:cc{ictD£^  iifumnc©  fub  u 
mioa:!ix>rTC|smiu  ecfto:cnm»6:pft; 

arcaluin  fupxgtnoTicm  xiirqiUo  coftm 
inter  iiaojon  ctoimom  pmiictc  for. 
fpua  q  uanto  raao  biniuna  pnit  ft  in 
tti' caput?  ct  auTxim  fiaut>u>  fairiuhta*' 

i^M  clx  |ii(la  mionti  c  ropi  miun  ctomi* 

,  4if*^^i  CTcto  cola  dx  aittDi  mm>  a^ttc^x 

^fey  ^1  c0Tiiinao  lomiODiica  ,'i]xirliirmt 

p    a  aariinolii  dx  tianHc  apicrcu. 
^       man  4i  finipt  plfcpia  imrmt 

I        fmucnnc  ct  amiio  U  rcfhi  d  bufto. 
j        nun  f«  i.i  nianon  a";:ifro  la  coxu. 

J        xsmto  tcm  giia  ana  "di  fiioj  u  Mlc 
'^        CTJU1TI  fc!]^rc  aitto  Liltm  ftito. 

i        |ot0irot1|aca?a4mlTduc^^lcc»lki 
\      -pipintoattcitsitiouic-ccTottilc, 

\  C/C?npmoplsgf0mmd!ieldpnp?ft& 

•  I      T!on  tnn^i  B?a|p  t^ttan  to  tiird^i. 

diDvaT^^cmo  macqxu  cpartcwtcm!. 

Fig.  8.      Dante's  Divine  Comedy.     (]4th  century.) 

Diirer's  "Adam  and  Eve"  (Fig.  35);  completely  the  case  in  Turner's 
"Norham  Castle"  (Fig.  68).  In  such  cases  the  outline  becomes  as  in- 
separable a  part  of  the  drawing  of  the  object  to  which  it  sets  limits,  and 
gives  definition,  as  is  the  edge,  viewed  from  whatever  angle,  of  a  statue, 

[  32  ] 


Drawing  and  Engraving' 

or  a  column,  or  a  vase.  It  is  thus  that  a  Hne,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
word,  may  be  regarded  as  a  convention.  It  is  a  thing  that  does  not  exist 
in  nature  but  is  the  one  thing  upon  which  all  artistic  representation  of 
nature  depends,  though  at  times  concealed  in  drawing;  for  example,  "Nor- 
ham  Castle";  and,  as  it  almost  always  is  in  painting,  the  "Sistine  Ma- 
donna." But  this  matter  will  be  touched  on  again.  For  the  present  it  is 
necessary  to  recognize  only  the  fact  that  all  pure  line,  i.e.,  lines  which  tell 
as  such,  marks  of  whatever  sort  which  wx  recognize  as  lines, — that  every 
pure  line  is  a  convention,  i.e.,  a  mode  of  procedure  based,  in  the  sense  of 
copied,  upon  nothing  in  nature,  but  which  none  the  less  enables  us  to 
represent  recognizably,  and  to  explain  with  clearness,  much  that  is  in 
nature.  The  camera  takes  no  cognizance  of  the  convention  of  line,  for  its 
mechanical  eye  sees  nothing  but  what  is  reflectable  by  the  lens.  Man 
invented  the  convention  and  great  men  manage  to  employ  it  in  such  a 
way  as  enables  them  to  gloss  and  illumine  many  of  the  fundamentally 
beautiful  significances  of  nature  which  are  invisible  to  a  merely  mechan- 
ically sensitive  eye,  the  camera's  or  that  of  the  man  who  is  merely  camera- 
eyed  ;  in  fine,  unphilosophic,  unpoetic,  unthoughtful. 

One  other  point  of  great  importance,  and  one  endlessly  discussed  in 
relation  to  art,  especially  to  the  art  of  drawing  as  it  stands  in  relation  to 
literature,  is  that  of  style.  Style  is  as  easy  to  recognize  as  the  indubitable 
sign  of  life  in  men  and  plants,  and  as  important.  Further,  it  is  just  as  im- 
possible to  define.  It  implies  all  that  is  meant  by  personality, — personality 
of  manner,  of  speech,  of  mind,  as  we  recognize  them  in  the  men  about  us, 
whether  agreeable  or  the  opposite.  It  means  that  indefinable,  ungraspa- 
ble,  but  truly  knowable  stamp  of  individuality  of  mind  which  sets  a  certain 
man's  work  apart  from  all  other.  It  means  the  personal  maimer  in  which 
one  man  does  what  he  does  and  in  which  manner  no  other  man  ever  did 
that  same  thing,  and  which  no  other  man  has  succeeded,  or  ever  can,  in 
copying.  For  example,  the  style  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  or  Hans  Holbein 
at  their  best ; — Leonardo  in  his  plant  drawings,  oak  or  columbine ;  Holbein 
in  his  red-chalk  Windsor  portraits  (Fig.  9) ;  drawings  which  have  the  highest 
distinction ;  which  exist,  like  great  men,  apart  from  others,  yet  powerfully 
influencive  of  others;  actual  forces  for  the  humanizing  of  mankind;  the 
world's  guarantee  of  culture.  It  is  by  studying  the  work  of  such  men  that 
one  learns  the  difference  between  real  style  in  drawing  and  that  which  many 
mistake  for  style,   mere  mannerisms.     The  drawing  of  great  men,  if  it 

[  33  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing"  and  Engraving" 

shows  lines,  as  such,  and  it  usually  does,  makes  every  line  tell  facts  re- 
specting form.  Every  line  is  used  to  describe  something  just  as  every 
word  is  by  a  master  of  language.  Every  touch,  least  and  greatest,  is  of 
evident  purpose  and  understandable  to  him  who  really  studies  the  drawing 


Aima  Bolleiji  Queen 


Fig.  9.      Hans  Holbein. 


of  such  men  as  Leonardo,  Botticelli,  Diirer,  Holbein  and,  in  modern  times. 
Turner,  Millet,  and  Whistler.  Mannerism  consists  in  using  lines  which  do 
not  tell  anything  of  form,  or  add  to  the  facts  expressed  by  the  picture 
as  a  whole,  but  which  may,  none  the  less,  be  interesting  enough  in  them- 
selves.     Those  touches  in  a  drawing,   like  those  words  in  writing  which 

[  34  ] 


Drawing-  and  Engraving' 

exist  for  themselves  and  not  for  the  ^ood  of  the  whole,  are  mannered 
touches,  and  no  matter  how  lovely,  per  se,  or  how  distinctive  in  them- 
selves, are  bad  as  art.  All  great  draughtsmen-artists  are  utterly  above 
mannerism,  notably  the  Chinese  and  Japanese.  Men  who  draw  as  Merej- 
kowski  describes  Leonardo's  drawing  are  masters  of  style  and  as  far 
removed  from  pedantry,  only  another  word  for  mannerism,  as  the  East  is 
from  the  West.  To  be  mannered  in  his  way  of  drawing  is  equivalent 
to  saying  that  a  draughtsman  has  ceased  to  think.  It  is  what  the  major- 
ity do  as  soon  as  they  get  a  passable  likeness  of  their  subject  when  they 
begin  to  go  on  adding  touches,  lines,  and  dots  without  knowing  what  each 
one  means.  Rembrandt  and  Van  Dyck  as  well  as  Holbein  and  Leonardo, 
all  the  truly  great,  are  unconditionally  above  such  waste  of  time,  and 
therefore  are  true  masters  of  style  because  each  succeeds  in  expressing 
his  personal  reaction  to  his  chosen  subject  in  a  way  that  is  likewise  personal 
and  always  startlingly  direct. 

Merejkowski  says:  "Sometimes  Leonardo  would  draw  a  flower  or  a 
tree,  trying  to  seize  the  living  likeness  as  in  the  portrait  of  a  man ;  that 
unique,  particular  aspect  of  his  model  which  would  never  be  repeated." 

Goethe  said  to  Eckermann:  "1  have  lately  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
buy,  at  a  reasonable  rate,  many  excellent  drawings  by  celebrated  masters, 
Such  drawings  are  invaluable,  not  only  because  they  give,  in  its  purity, 
the  mental  intention  of  the  artist,  but  because  they  bring  immediately  be- 
fore us  the  mood  of  his  mind  at  the  moment  of  creation."  More  ade- 
quately than  these  men  ha\e  spoken  has  no  man  spoken  about  style  in 
drawing.  But  as  reading  books  is  worth  more  than  reading  about  them, 
and  as  hearing  music  is  worth  more  than  hearing  about  it,  so  looking  at 
drawings  is  a  hundred-fold  more  illuminating  and  inspiring  than  reading 
about  them.  Yet  still  the  truth  of  Plato's  word  holds  true  that  there  is 
nothing  but  can  be  made  plainer  b}^  being  talked  about. 


L  '35    1 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    BEGINNINGS   OF   LINE   ENGRAVING 

IN    ITALY 


E 


INGRAVINGS  are  those  pictures  which  many  people  think  of  as  gray, 
black  and  cold  representations  of  well-known  masterpieces  of  painting; 
Raphael's  "Sistine  Madonna"  or  Titian's  "Assumption,"  shorn  of  their 
color  and  reduced  to  a  matter  of  light  and  shade  produced  by  an  elaborate 
interweaving  of  lines  and  dots;  reproductions,  not  always  well  drawn,  of 
great  originals,  and,  as  people  often  may  be  heard  to  say,  very  good  for 
an  age  that  knew  not  photography.  There  are  few  persons  who  do  not 
cherish  a  good  photograph  of  Rembrandt's  portrait  of  himself,  or  his  por- 
trait of  that  old  woman  in  a  white  cap  and  ruff,  or  a  fine  carbon  of  one  of 
Turner's  or  Gainsborough's  landscapes,  yet  all  will  agree  that  far  more 
useful  and  inspiring  exponents  of  such  artistic  genius  as  these  things  repre- 
sent are  to  be  found  in  the  first-hand  works  of  the  artists  themselves. 

If  we  were  offered  original  drawings  by  Rembrandt,  Turner,  or  Gains- 
borough we  should  deem  it  a  great  boon,  because  in  an  artist's  drawing,  no 
matter  how  slight,  we  come  into  direct  contact  with  his  genius.  The  fin- 
ished picture  by  the  same  hand  is  frequently  the  result  of  many  draw- 
ings;— notes  made  of  rapidly  fleeting  effects  of  nature,  or  expression  of 
face  and  movement  of  the  body,  or  still  more  rapidly  fleeting  thought : 
notes  set  down  with  all  the  accuracy  and  delicacy  of  which  the  artist  is 
capable.  But  in  the  finished  picture  the  artist's  method  of  composing  and 
his  manner  of  thinking  are  often  partially  concealed  by  intricate  finish  of 
detail  and  complexity  of  technique.  The  picture  is  so  wonderful  a  thing 
that  we  look  at  it  in  admiration,  and  are  awe-struck  at  the  genius  of  its 
maker,  but  are  unable  adequately  to  comprehend  either.  All  this,  which 
is  equally  true  of  such  highly  finished  drawings  as  an  artist  intends  shall  be 

[  37  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

regarded  as  completed  works  of  art  in  and  by  themselves,  is  even  truer  of 
painting.  However,  turning  to  an  artist's  drawings,  those  which  often 
are  little  more  than  sketches,  and  studying  them,  we  may  in  some  meas- 
ure discover  and  follow  the  suggestions,  in  line  and  wash,  which,  elaborated 
in  the  finished  i)icture,  ])roduced  the  admired  result.  From  his  drawings 
we  may  learn  what  were  the  facts  which  stimulated  head  and  hand  to  their 
labor,  and  so,  by  adding  simple  facts  to  our  information  about  the  finished 
work,  lay  the  foundation  for  an  intelligent  and  appreciative  comprehension 
of  that  work.  In  the  process,  moreover,  we  shall  learn  to  value  and  under- 
stand a  drawing  as  a  precious  work  of  art  in  itself. 

Two  men  may  sit  side  by  side  and  make  pictures  of  the  same  scene, 
and  from  one  of  these  pictures,  it  may  be  the  one  which  is  least  of  a  literal 
transcript  of  the  scene,  will  spring  pleasant,  illuminating,  and  inspiriting 
thought  on  the  part  of  a  spectator,  while  the  other  produces  no  such  effect. 
Let  an  analogy  serve  for  illustration.  I  was  once  walking  by  a  foaming 
brook  and  I  came  to  a  i)lace  where  the  water  fell  into  a  deep  pool,  and  the 
pool  was  bridged.  A  white  ram  came  to  this  spot,  and  stood  still  upon 
the  bank ;  I  saw  him,  together  with  the  grass  and  trees,  the  mountains  and 
sky,  perfectly  reflected  in  the  smooth  surface  of  the  pool.  Listen  now  to 
Wordsworth's  description  of  this  scene. 

"And  having  reached  a  bridge  that  overarched 

The  hasty  rivulet  where  it  lay  becalmed 

In  a  deep  pool,  by  happy  chance  we  saw 

A  two-fold  image :  on  a  grassy  bank 

A  snow-white  ram,  and  in  the  crystal  flood 

Another  and  the  same.      Most  beautiful 

On  the  green  turf,  with  his  imperial  front 

Shaggy  and  bold,  and  wreathed  horns  superb 

The  breathing  creature  stood :  as  beautiful 

Beneath  him  showed  his  shadowy  counter-part. 

Each  had  his  glowing  mountains,  each  his  sky, 
/  And  each  seemed  centre  of  his  own  fair  world : 

Antipodes  unconscious  of  each  other, 

Yet  in  partition  with  their  several  spheres 

Blended  in  perfect  stillness  to  our  sight." 

In  these  lines  we  have  an  expression  of  the  poetic  genius  for  seeing  and 
feeling,  and  the  poetic  power  for  relating;  two  underlying  requisites  of  a 

[  38  ] 


The  Beg'inning's  of  Line  Engraving-  in  Italy 

work  of  great  art ;  keen  and  appreciative  insight,  in  degree  far  more  pene- 
trative than  that  which  is  commonly  given  to  man,  together  with  a  form, 
manner,  in  a  word,  technique,  developed  beyond  that  which  most  men 
ever  attain  to,  or  of  which  they  are  capable.  In  one  account  we  have  a 
draft  of  the  facts,  fairly  well  set  forth ;  a  draft  which  may  be  taken  in  some 
degree  to  resemble  the  rapid  notes  made  by  the  poet  on  the  spot.  In  the 
other,  Wordsworth's  account,  these  same  facts  are  embodied  in  a  form  of 
imperishable  beauty,  and  we  are  made  thereby  joint  heirs  in  a  work  of 
consummate  art.  Surely  nobody  will  deny  the  desirability  of  possessing 
such  drafts,  data,  sketches  or  drawings  as  have  in  any  way  served  a 
master,  whether  poet  or  artist.  And,  further  yet,  how  doubly  invaluable 
must  be  the  drafts  of  such  men,  we  call  them  drawings  in  the  artist's  case, 
when  they  are,  by  their  authors,  regarded  as  complete  in  themselves. 
This  raises  the  question,  'Where  can  we  get  such  invaluable  objects  as 
Rembrandt  and  Turner  drawings?' — drawings  regarded  by  them  as  the 
means  to  an  end,  or  as  ends  in  themselves.  The  answer,  ninety-nine 
times  out  of  a  hundred,  is  inevitable — 'Nowhere';  and  a  sorrowful  answer 
it  would  be  if  there  were  absolutely  no  remedy. 

But  suppose  we  are  offered,  as  substitutes  for  the  drawings  of  Rem- 
brandt, Turner,  and  many  more,  etchings  and  engravings  by  them ;  that  of 
these  we  are  told  there  are  many  in  the  world,  and  that,  in  reality,  they  are 
the  same  things  as  drawings,  because  their  authors,  instead  of  drawing  with 
pencil  and  pen  upon  sheets  of  paper  in  the  usual  way,  have  drawn  upon 
plates  of  metal  with  a  sharp  instrument,  from  which  plates  numerous  ink 
impressions  have  been  taken,  should  we  not  be  pleased  a  thousand-fold  at 
the  world's  good  fortune  in  possessing  many  authentic  works  of  genius 
in  place  of  one?  Glad  that  those  who  practice  art  as  well  as  those  who 
love  it  and  find  solace  in  it,  though  they  never  drew  a  line,  can  have  access 
in  many  an  American  city  and  town  to  original  works  by  the  most  famous 
artists,  as  easily  as  if  they  lived  in  London  or  Paris ;  that  we  may  see  ex- 
amples of  the  best  drawings  by  the  masters — objects  far  more  desirable  and 
precious  than  second-rate  paintings  can  ever  be,  though  they  bear  the  sig- 
natures of  the  most  notable  practitioners  of  the  art?  "The  unwise,"  says 
Candide,  "value  every  word  in  an  author  of  repute"  ;  so  also  do  the  unwise 
value  every  line  and  stroke  by  an  artist  of  renown.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
discuss  the  relative  value  of  photographs  in  this  connection,  but  it  is  essen- 
tial to  an  understanding  of  the  point  of  view,  and  to  any  adequate  under- 

[  39  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing  and  Engraving 

standing  of  the  engraver's  and  the  etcher's  art,  to  getting  a  correct  and 
enthusiastic  appreciation  of  prints  in  general,  that  the  extremely  intimate 
relation  between  drawing  and  engraving  be  insisted  on:  a  relation  that 
amounts,  as  has  been  said,  to  identity.  Once  more  I  would  emphasize  the 
fact  that  it  is  through  the  drawings  of  the  masters  that  we  can  penetrate 
most  deeply  into  their  purposes,  and  get  the  most  accurate  comprehension 
of  the  sources  and  means  of  their  power;  in  other  words,  and  this  is  the 
goal  of  appreciation,  become  sharers  in  the  world's  best  achievement. 

By  power,  artistic  power,  is  meant  an  artist's  ability  to  look  upon  life 
and  nature  with  interpretative  vision;  to  see  and  grasp  meanings  not  gen- 
erally dreamt  of;  this,  together  with  unusual  ability  in  his  hand  for  recording 
what  he  sees,  in  line,  and  light,  and  shade,  and  color.  We  have  an  in- 
stance of  artistic  power  defined  in  quite  wonderful  fashion  by  Sir  Frederic 
Leighton  when  he  says,  speaking  of  Albert  Diirer,  "If  I  may  use  his  own 
characteristic  expression,  'to  make  known  through  his  work'  the  mysteri- 
ous treasure  that  was  laid  up  in  his  heart."  To  be  moved,  to  become 
impassioned,  to  lose  himself  that  he  may  find  himself,  is  an  essential  in- 
gredient of  great  artistic  power ;  the  sine  qua  no?i  of  a  real  artist.  To  have 
the  capacity  to  discriminate  with  reason,  in  the  presence  of  that  infinite 
complexity  which  is  nature,  and  to  trace,  through  such  complexity,  cer- 
tain definite  expressions  of  governing  order,  and  to  choose  a  few  facts 
from  the  many,  and  those  few  such  as  shall  best  make  known  what  it  is 
the  artist  was  intent  upon  at  the  given  instant  in  the  life  of  his  subject; 
this  also  is  an  essential  ingredient  of  artistic  power.  The  artist  looks  on 
nature  and  is  fired  with  enthusiasm.  He  falls  in  love  with  certain  of  her 
aspects — sublimity,  grandeur,  loveliness,  or  it  may  be  fearfulness,  awful- 
ness,  relentlessness.  As  artist  it  is  his  especial  province  to  set  these  forth 
in  finite  and  limited  forms  of  truth  and  beauty;  to  "put  the  infinite 
within  the  finite,"  which  is  how  Browning  defined  poetry.  In  a  picture, 
which  can  at  most  include  but  a  few  chosen  facts  about  the  theme  that 
stimulated  him  to  the  act  of  artistic  interpretation,  the  artist  declares 
himself;  declares  to  all  who  shall  look  at  his  picture  something  of  what  he 
saw  and  felt;  that  something  which  you  and  I  have  seen  and  felt  vaguely 
he  enables  us  to  feel  and  see  clearly.  The  most  carefully  finished  picture 
and  the  slightest  sketch  or  drawing  from  the  hand  of  genius  can  not  do  less. 

Nature  and  art  the  artist  of  the  highest  order  knows  to  be  forever 
separate,  and  yet  never  for  an  instant  will  he  separate  them  in  his  own 

[  40  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

thought.  All  art  is  founded  on  nature,  as  the  reflection  in  the  mirror  is 
based  on  the  reality  of  the  objects  reflected,  but  with  this  eternal  difl^erence, 
that  the  artist's  mirror,  his  mind,  not  only  makes  a  reflection,  but  acts 
freely  upon  that  reflection,  making  comment  thereon;  clarifying  it  with 
the  all-powerful  reagent  which  truly  artistic  minds  alone  possess  and  know 
how  to  use,  imagination.  The  lens  and  sensitized  film  of  the  camera  act 
like  the  mirror.  Their  realm  is  the  realm  of  ])resent  fact.  Neither  of 
them  has  the  first  foothold  in  the  realm  of  thought,  the  only  power  allotted 
to  man  whereby  he  may  set  facts  aright,  and  make  them  serve  his  ends. 
The  artist  has  his  life  in  two  worlds  at  once ;  the  world  of  visions  and  the 
world  of  fact.  Genius  can  onlj^  be  accurately  measured  by  its  ability  to 
extend  the  confines  of  the  world  of  vision  beyond  the  limits  of  the  world 
of  reality.  Not  the  smallest  creature,  the  most  insignificant  plant,  the 
littlest  thing  in  the  world  of  fact  can  truly  become  a  subject  of  the  domain 
of  art,  i.e.,  of  mind,  of  imagination,  emotion,  reason,  without  undergoing 
a  change ;  without  being  transformed ;  it  may  be  translated.  Through  a 
really  great  drawing  we  can  enter  into  an  understanding  of  this  change, 
and  must,  if  we  are  to  appreciate  the  drawing.  A  lovely  thing  in  nature, 
the  lovelier  the  better;  a  sublime  thing  in  nature,  the  more  sublime  the 
better;  drawn  by  a  genius,  becomes  something  more  and  something  less 
than  the  original.  In  the  drawing  we  may  see  the  subtle  relationship 
which  exists  between  the  two.  We  may,  often  do,  care  more  for  the 
artistic  transcript  than  for  the  original,  in  part  because,  by  the  help  of  the 
transcript,  we  are  enabled  to  better  know  the  original.  The  power  of  art 
lies  in  that  inner  light  of  the  mind  which  certain  men  can  turn  alike  upon 
the  microscopic  and  the  titanic  presences  of  nature :  Wordsworth  into  the 
innermost  recesses  of  an  Alpine  pass  or  upon  the  frailty  of  a  celandine  plant; 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  upon  that  same  celandine  or  the  face  of  a  human  being 
made  the  acceptable  Christ  of  the  "Last  Supper"  ;  Corot  into  the  promise 
and  peace  of  a  May  orchard;  George  Innis  upon  the  ripe  gorgeousness  of 
an  October  mountain;  Turner  upon  ocean  waves,  mountain  high,  in  such 
a  day  and  place  as  his  "Fame  Island"  (P'rontispiece)  shows.  Look  at  any 
great  drawing  and  you  will  soon  see  how,  in  the  turn  of  a  head,  the  lift 
of  an  eye,  the  bend  of  an  arm,  the  sweep  of  a  drapery,  the  branching  of  a 
tree,  the  contour  of  a  mountain,  the  artist  has,  in  the  actual  form  of  the 
object,  and  his  transcript  of  it,  discovered  for  himself  and  you,  some  secret 
of  surpassing  beauty  hitherto  unrealized. 

[41  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

Fidelity  to  the  model,  whatever  it  may  be,  first.  Next,  discovery  of 
hitherto  unseen  beauty  in  that  model.  Next,  conscious  search  among 
many  models  for  the  one  in  which  most  of  this  discovered  beauty  can  be 
found.  Finally,  the  act  of  creation,  wherein  what  mitigates  against  such 
beauty  is  omitted,  and  what  of  it  is  present  is  heightened,  in  perfect  con- 
formity, be  sure,  with  what  has  already  been  discovered  to  exist  but  to 
a  degree  unknown  in  reality.  This  is  the  history  of  the  growth  of  artistic 
genius.  To  learn  to  recognize  these  steps  in  works  of  art  is  in  large 
measure  the  history  of  the  origin  and  growth  of  artistic  appreciation.  It 
is  culture.  The  drawing  of  a  genius  may  be  slight  and  abstract,  or  it  may 
be  highly  finished  and  most  concrete,  but,  so  far  as  it  goes  it  will  remain 
faithful  to  fact,  otherwise  we  could  not  recognize  what  has  been  drawn, 
the  subject.  It  will,  furthermore,  and  not  less  faithfully,  represent  the 
meaning  of  the  fact  as  that  affects  the  artist's  mind.  The  drawing  of  a 
genius  invariably  deals  with  the  truthful  presentation  of  fact,  and  purport 
of  fact;  with  whatever  is,  and  its  meaning,  both  in  the  world  of  nature 
and  in  that  other  world,  the  artist's  mind. 

We  must  always  remember  that  drawing  remains  drawing  though  it 
be  called  engraving  or  etching ;  whether  done  with  pencil  upon  paper,  or 
needle  upon  copper,  or  burin  upon  steel.  And  the  good  qualities  of  all 
three  alike  are  the  good  qualities  of  drawing.  All  such  engraved  or  etched 
drawing,  to  invent  an  expression  for  drawing  done  with  the  graver  or 
needle  directly  upon  metal,  if  done  by  an  artist  with  his  own  hand,  belongs 
under  the  head  of  original  work ;  that  class  of  work  which  comes  to  the 
world  directly  from  the  artist's  hand,  and  between  which  and  the  world 
no  other  hand  and  no  mechanical  instrument  intervenes. 

We  shall  have  reason,  as  we  proceed,  to  speak  of  much  fine  work; 
of  metal  and  wood  engraving  as  well  as  etching  and  mezzotint,  which  is 
not,  in  the  sense  just  described,  original.  In  other  words,  engravings  or 
prints  copied  from  masterpieces  of  painting,  sometimes  with  the  master 
himself  standing  by,  ready  to  advise  and  help  his  imitator;  again,  when 
the  master's  work,  the  painting,  is  copied  by  the  engraver,  long  after  the 
master's  hand  has  ceased  from  labor,  as  when  today  someone  engraves  a 
work  of  Raphael.  For  these  reasons  it  is  convenient  to  divide  all  forms 
of  engraving,  all  prints,  into  three  classes:  original  work  by  masters; 
copied  works  of  masters,  but  copied  under  their  direct  supervision ;  copied 
works  of  masters,  but  copied  without  their  supervision. 

[  42  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

Engraving,  cutting  lines  into,  or  furrowing  them  out  of  a  hard  sub- 
stance, such  as  a  slab  of  stone,  a  plate  of  metal,  or  a  block  of  wood,  has 
been  practiced  for  ages.  From  the  remote  past,  examples  of  it  have  come 
down  to  the  present.  Furthermore,  it  is  employed  by  men  and  races  but 
little  advanced  beyond  the  savage  state.  Egyptian  sarcophagi,  with  their 
incised  or  engraved  hieroglypliics,  bear  testimony  to  the  former  statement, 
while  the  bone  handles  of  knives,  decorated  with  crude  patterns  scratched 
on  them  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  Arctic  regions,  prove  the  latter.  More 
than  three  thousand  years  before  Christ,  when  an  Egyptian  monach 
desired  to  leave  an  enduring  record  of  his  acts  and  honors  upon  earth,  he 
was  accustomed  to  summon  to  his  assistance  architects,  sculptors  and 
engravers.  The  first  built  a  tomb,  or  memorial  chapel ;  the  second  carved 
his  effigy  in  stone ;  the  third  cut  or  engraved  inscriptions  relating  to  his 
birth,  life  and  death,  prayers  for  his  soul's  ease,  and  lists  of  his  possessions, 
number  of  conquests  and  captives,  on  slabs  of  basalt  or  granite.  Of  simi- 
lar character  is  the  lettering  upon  tombstones,  and  the  ciphering  upon 
spoons  and  forks.  On  the  stones  in  signet  rings  taken  from  the  coffins  of 
Egyptians  dead  forty  centuries,  are  just  such  designs  as  are  cut  for  seals 
at  the  present  time.  Upon  ancient  Greek  royal  insignia,  gold  crowns  and 
pectorals,  there  is  excjuisite,  engraved  scroll  ornament:  ornament  precisely 
similar,  so  far  as  the  method  of  making  it  goes,  to  that  known  as  chasing, 
common  now  upon  watch  cases.  In  Exodus  xxviii.  11  we  read,  "With 
the  work  of  an  engraver  in  stone,  like  the  engravings  of  a  signet,  shalt 
thou  engrave  the  two  stones  with  the  names  of  the  children  of  Israel." 
A  partial  list  would  soon  grow  to  be  cumbersome  as  well  as  wearisome, 
if  enumeration  were  to  be  made  of  the  engraved  objects  of  ancient,  clas- 
sic, medieval,  and  Renaissance  date;  the  sacrificial  basins,  chalices  and 
monstrances  with  which  the  great  museums  are  stored,  not  to  mention 
references  to  the  engraver's  art  in  literature,  from  Homer's  account  of  the 
shield  of  Achilles  to  Thackeray's  of  Beatrice  Esmond  holding  up  the  great 
gold  salver  to  her  cousin  Henry  and  saying,  "  'Isn't  this  a  pretty  piece?' 
as  she  pointed  out  the  fine  carving  of  the  languid  prostrate  Mars. "  Most 
briefly,  engraving  is  carved  drawing. 

It  is  worth  while  in  passing  to  recall  the  fact  that  Homer,  in  his 
detailed  accounts  of  the  subjects  imaged  on  his  heroes'  shields,  says 
nothing  of  the  process  by  which  the  representations  were  made.  But  this 
by  no  means  inv^alidates  what  has  been  said,  because  from  Homer's  time 

[  43  ] 


Notes  on  Lyrawing  and  Engraving 

we  still  possess  examples  of  engraved  metal  surfaces.  Examples  of  the 
art  are  to  be  seen  in  the  British  Museum,  or  the  Metropolitan,  dating 
back  to  remote  antiquity;  examples  of  Assyrian,  Egyptian,  Indian,  and 
Chinese  origin.  The  reputation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  goldsmiths  as 
engravers,  in  the  days  of  Alfred  and  later,  is  well  known.  Very  soon 
after  the  Conqueror's  time  England  developed  one  use  for  engraving  which 
she  made  distinctlj^  her  own.  In  many  an  ancient  English  church  w^e  may 
yet  see  brass  grave  slabs,  full-length  "brasses,"  as  they  are  called,  won- 
derfully engraved  with  the  figures  and  faces  of  prelates,  and  texts  from 
Holy  Writ. 

The  word  engrave  is  derived  from  ancient  roots,  appearing  in  the 
Greek  and  Anglo-Saxon,  and  in  our  own  language  in  the  word  'grave.' 
Primarily  it  means  a  scratch,  or  an  incision.  To  engrave  is  to  remove — 
for  the  present  no  matter  how — portions  of  the  surface  of  a  wood  block  or 
a  metal  plate,  so  that  a  design  is  left  either  relieved  from,  or  sunken  into, 
the  surface.  This  is  dwelt  on  in  order  to  impress  one  important  fact,  and 
to  prepare  the  way  for  the  statement  of  another.  The  first,  that  engrav- 
ing, literally  the  cutting,  scratching,  or  ploughing  of  a  design  into  the 
surface  of  a  hard  substance,  has  been  common  in  all  ages  and  conditions 
of  society.  The  second,  that  what  we  think  of  as  engravings,  or  prints, 
are  none  other  than  impressions,  made  on  sheets  of  paper  by  means  of 
filling  or  covering  with  ink  the  lines  of  the  engraved  design,  and  bringing 
the  paper  into  contact  with  those  lines.  Through  usage  it  has  become 
customary  to  speak  of  such  impressions,  prints,  the  pictures  we  hang  upon 
our  walls,  or  with  which  we  illustrate  our  books,  as  engravings.  They  are 
really  designs  stamped  in  ink  on  paper;  what  the  French  call  estampe, 
and  we  call  prints. 

The  art  of  engraving,  cutting  or  incising  designs,  is  of  very  ancient 
origin,  so  ancient  that  nothing  is  known  of  its  beginnings.  The  art  of 
making  prints  from  the  surfaces  of  engraved  substances  is  comparatively 
modern,  probably  not  known  in  Europe  before  the  fifteenth  century.  It 
is  an  art  of  prime  importance,  because  it  made  possible  the  reduplication 
of  drawings  by  men  of  genius,  while  out  of  it  sprang  the  art  of  printing, 
to  which  we  owe  gratitude  for  making  books  and  papers  our  everyday  pos- 
sessions. The  exact  date  and  precise  authorship  of  the  discovery  of  a 
method  by  which  prints  could  be  taken  from  engraved  surfaces  are 
unknown.     The  honor  of  having  made  the  discovery  is  variously  claimed 

[  44  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

by  the  Italians,  the  Germans,  and  the  Dutch.  It  is  possible,  perhaps 
probable,  that  the  discovery  was  made  simultaneously  in  Italy  and 
Flanders,  or  in  Germany  and  Italy,  an  occurrence  by  no  means  unheard 
of  in  the  history  of  modern  invention,  even  in  these  days  when  news  of  all 
sorts  is  spread  with  incredible  rapidity  by  steam  and  electricity ;  surely  no 
matter  for  wonder  in  an  age  when  the  means  of  communication  between 
countries  were  few,  slow,  and  dangerous. 

No  attempt  will  be  made  to  discuss  the  vexed  questions  which  relate  to 
the  discovery  of  the  art  of  printing  from  engraved  surfaces.  Dense  mists 
of  prejudice,  envy,  false  testimony,  and  ignorance  shroud  the  facts.  It  is 
enough  to  remember  that  engravings,  prints  taken  from  metal  plates,  were 
probably  first  known  in  Germany ;  that  engravings,  prints  taken  from  wood 
blocks,  were  probably  of  Flemish  or  German  origin ;  that  the  art  of  making 
prints  from  engraved  wood  blocks,  what  are  known  as  woodcuts,  wood 
engravings,  probably  preceded  the  art  of  making  prints  from  engraved  metal 
plates,  what  are  called  steel,  copper,  or  line  engravings;  that  woodcuts 
were  of  northern  origin,  and,  in  point  of  time,  preceded  metal  engravings.^ 

Vasari's  "Lives  of  the  Painters  "  remain,  what  they  have  ever  been, 
the  principal  source  of  literary  information  concerning  art  in  the  days  of 
the  Renaissance.  Their  testimony  relating  to  the  first  engraver  whose 
name  is  mentioned  is  of  importance.  As  this  engraver  did  not  die  until 
1464,  and  the  first  edition  of  Vasari's  "Lives"  appeared  in  1550,  in  the 
preface  to  which  the  author  says  that  from  boyhood  he  was  accustomed  to 
keep  notes  of  all  that  he  heard  about  the  old  artists,  "concerning  whom  I 
held  every  information  most  dear,"  it  is  possible  that  Vasari  talked  about 
this  engraver  and  his  work  with  those  who  had  known  both.  Vasari  tells 
us  that  "the  beginning  of  the  practice  of  copperplate  engraving  was  made 
by  Maso  di  Finiguerra  about  1460,"  and  the  essential  validity  of  this 
statement  is  not  called  into  doubt  by  the  fact  that  modern  research  has 
succeeded  in  placing  the  date  as  far  back  as  1440.  Vasari  does  not  say 
that  Finiguerra  invented  the  process  of  copperplate  engraving.^ 

'  "  Many  words  have  been  wasted  by  the  belligerent  critics  who  have  championed  the  respective  claims 
of  Germany,  the  Netherlands,  or  Italy  for  the  award  of  priority  in  the  practice  of  the  art  of  engraving. 
Vasari's  story  that  it  was  due  to  the  Florentine  niellist  and  goldsmith,  Maso  Finiguerra,  about  1460, 
must,  of  course,  be  discarded  in  view  of  our  present  knowledge  of  the  origins  of  the  art  in  the  North,  if 
not  also  by  the  existence  in  Italy  itself  of  engravings  which  must  precede  by  a  decade  any  that  can  be 
attributed  to  Finiguerra."     "A  Short  History  of  Engraving  and  Etching,"  by  A.  M.  Hind,  London,  1908. 

2  "There  were  engravings  in  the  North  of  Europe  well  before  the  earliest  possible  example  of 
Finiguerra."     "  Some  Early  Italian  Engravers  before  the  Time  of  Marcantonio, "  by  A.  M.  Hind. 

[  45  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

This  Fini^uerra,  like  so  many  of  the  best  of  the  Itahan  artists,  sculp- 
tors, and  architects,  was  apprenticed  to  a  goldsmith  and  learned  the  trade 
of  a  worker  in  ])recious  metals  under  the  })atronage  of  one  of  the  famous 
goldsmiths'  guilds, — unions,  really,  of  artists  and  artisans  for  mutual  pro- 
tection and  the  preservation  of  the  highest  ideals  of  the  arts  they  repre- 
sented. Finiguerra  became  a  master  of  that  branch  of  the  art  known  as 
niello,  of  which  Vasari  has  left  us  a  detailed,  though  not  altogether  definite, 
account.  He  says  that  the  way  to  make  a  work  in  niello  is:  first,  to 
engrave  the  design  on  an  even  surface  of  metal  with  a  tool  called  the  burin ; 
second,  to  make  a  black  compound  by  melting  together  silver  and  lead 
and  some  other  ingredients,  which,  when  cool,  is  to  be  ground  to  a  fine 
powder;  tltird,  to  fill  the  lines  of  the  engraved  design  with  this  powder, 
which,  upon  heating,  liquifies  and  runs  into  every  stroke  of  the  design, 
and  there  hardens ;  lastly,  to  rub  the  work  until  the  true  surface  appears 
and  everything  is  polished.  Vasari  then  continues,  in  a  sentence  of 
peculiar  significance  for  our  present  consideration,  saying  that  of  every 
work  which  this  artist,  Finiguerra,  engraved  on  silver  preparatory  to  its 
completion  in  niello,  "he  took  an  impression  on  damped  paper  by  making 
use  of  some  dark  pigment  mixed  with  oil,  and  going  over  the  whole  very 
gently  with  a  round  roller,  the  result  being  that  these  pictures  not  only 
appear  as  if  printed,  but  have  the  effect  of  those  designed  (i.e.,  drawn) 
with  the  ])en. "  To  repeat  what  has  already  been  said  about  being  offered, 
as  substitutes  for  the  drawings  of  Rembrandt  and  other  great  artists, 
engravings  by  them;  being  offered  in  place  of  a  pen  drawing  by  Fini- 
guerra an  engraving  printed  from  one  of  his  incised  drawings  on  silver,  is 
to  say  that  such  an  engraving  furnishes  an  ample  and  acceptable  substitute, 
which  is  just  what  Vasari  says  at  the  close  of  the  passage  quoted,  namely, 
that  "these  pictures,"  prints  taken  from  metal  plates  engraved  for  niello, 
"not  only  appear  as  if  printed,  but  have  the  effect  of  those  designed  (i.e., 
drawn)  with  the  pen."  Moreover,  this  important  passage  contains  one 
of  the  very  early  references  to  engravings,  in  the  sense  of  prints,  as  well 
as  an  accurate  account  of  the  theory  and  early  practice  of  printing. 

Through  chance  the  goldsmith  discovered  an  easy  way,  by  means  of 
a  little  ink  and  a  hand  roller,  to  preserve  a  copy  of  his  design,  which, 
otherwise,  was  probably  lost  forever  to  him  when  he  parted  with  the  object 
on  which  he  had  wrought  it;  a  convenient  way  of  recalling  what  he  had 
done  and  sold,  and,  doubtless,  a  simple  and  direct  way  of  making  known 

[  46  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

to  his  patrons  the  character  of  his  work ;  in  other  words,  a  means  of  adver- 
tising his  abiUties  and  wares.  It  is  an  instance  of  chance  and  conven- 
ience becoming  the  i)arents  of  a  world-serving  invention. 

We  must  next  know  something  of  the  nature  of  the  graver  or  burin, 
the  tool  used  in  making  niello  plates  in  Florence  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  visiting-card  plates  the  world  over  in  the  twentieth,  of  which  Vasari 
remarks,  "with  this  instrument  all  things  are  done  which  are  engraved 
upon  plates  of  metal."  We  must  have  some  comprehension  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  beset  a  man  who  wields  this  tool,  and  learn  how,  as  is  ob- 
vious, through  the  overcoming  of  these  difficulties  was  developed,  in  no 
slight  degree,  that  remarkable  skill  of  hand,  keenness  of  eye,  and  intellec- 
tual appreciation  of  form,  which  characterize  the  best  Florentine  painting. 
The  burin  is  a  small  bar  of  steel  some  inches  long,  square  or  lozenge-shaped 
in  cross-section,  sometimes  knife-bladed  and  sharpened  obliquely  so  as  to 
give  cutting  point  and  edges.  It  is  always  pushed,  never  handled  like  a  lead 
pencil,  i.e.,  dragged  or  drawn;  rather,  it  is  always  pushed,  like  a  carpen- 
ter's plane  or  gouge,  along  the  surface  of  the  metal  plate,  so  that  it  ploughs 
up  a  fine  shaving  of  the  metal  and  leaves  behind  it  a  small  furrow,  or  in- 
cised line,  usually  triangular  in  section.  To  use  the  burin  with  skill ;  to 
plough  the  line  to  the  exact  depth  desired;  to  curve  it,  or  to  keep  it 
straight,  according  as  the  design  requires ;  to  make  it  do  exactly  what  it 
should,  needs  much  strength  in  the  wrist  and  great  precision  of  touch. 
It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  ploughing  lines  into  a  hard  metal  surface 
with  a  yet  harder  tool  is  a  very  different  task  from  that  of  drawing  with  a 
pen  or  pencil  upon  paper.  It  requires  extraordinary  delicacy  of  sight  com- 
bined with  vigor  of  mind  and  hand.  To  be  a  master  of  the  burin,  a  first- 
rate  engraver,  implies  knowing  what  is  to  be  done,  as  well  as  having  the 
power  to  do  it;  in  a  word,  being  right  first,  last,  and  always.  Such  was 
the  training  of  the  goldsmith  in  that  Florence  of  the  fourteenth  and  fif- 
teenth centuries,  which  gave  the  world  the  master  works  of  so  many  arts ; 
for  example,  that  inlaid  marble  altar,  glitteringly  arched  with  mosaic  can- 
opy, carried  upon  carved  and  twisted  marble  columns  with  sharp-cut  heads 
in  the  full  round,  and  exquisite  panels  of  lowest  bas-relief,  imbedded  in 
the  protecting  balustrades  of  it;  while,  formerly,  upon  that  altar  there 
reposed  a  precious  mass  of  sacred  utensils,  gold  and  silver  ornamented  with 
jewels  and  niello,  and  above  it  rose  the  tapers  that  shed  their  light  on  one 
of  the  lovely  madonnas  of  the  early  Tuscan  school,  the  shrine  in  the  church 

[  4T  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

of  Or  San  Michele.  Andrea  Orcagna,  the  many-sided  man  who  made 
this  shrine  and  understood  all  these  arts  so  well,  like  a  throng  of  his  famous 
contemporaries  and  many  of  his  still  more  famous  successors,  first  learned 
the  goldsmith's  trade.  Ghirlandajo  learned  it.  So  did  Botticelli.  Vasari 
says  at  the  beginning  of  his  life  of  Botticelli;  "There  was  at  that  time  a 
close  connection  and  almost  constant  intercourse  between  the  goldsmiths 
and  the  painters."  We  may  be  sure  that  this  general  training  of  young 
artists  in  arts,  hedged  about  by  such  great  manual  difficulties  as  the  gold- 
smith's and  niello  engraver's,  helped,  in  large  degree,  to  train  men  for  the 
arts  of  drawing  and  painting,  arts  of  comparatively  easy  technique,  the 
products  of  which  set  Italy,  and  keeps  her  yet,  above  the  world,  by  lead- 
ing men  to  work  with  extreme  accuracy  and  delicacy,  and  in  the  spirit  of 
truth  and  beauty;  by  teaching  beginners  not  to  waste  materials,  or  labor, 
yet  to  understand  that  the  real  value  of  any  work  of  art  is  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  the  thought,  love,  and  labor  put  into  it.  The  civilized  world 
owes  a  vast  debt  of  gratitude  to  those  early  Italian  goldsmiths  whose 
workshops  were  cradle  and  nursery  of  every  art ;  to  those  trades,  beautiful 
and  honest,  in  which  were  bred  the  teachers  of  Raphael,  and  Michelangelo, 
and  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and  all  the  other  consummate  Italian  draughtsmen. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  for  several  centuries  subsequent  to  Vasari's 
death  nobody  seriously  questioned  the  truth  of  his  statement  that  it  was 
the  custom  of  niello  engravers  to  take  prints  from  their  plates  before  the 
lines  were  filled  with  permanent  black,  and  although  there  were  many  ex- 
tant prints  accepted  as  impressions  from  niello  plates,  the  absolute  proof 
necessary  to  substantiate  such  a  view  was  lacking.  No  print  was  known 
which  was  an  impression  taken  from  any  known  work  of  niello.  Until 
some  niello  plate  could  be  put  side  by  side  with  an  ink  impression  taken 
from  it,  grounds  for  doubt  would  remain.  If  a  print  from  some  design  in 
niello  could  be  discovered,  the  sides  of  which  were  reversed,  as  the  sides 
of  any  design  printed  from  an  engraved  plate  must  be,  as  writing  is  re- 
versed when  stamped  upon  blotting  paper,  the  question  would  be  settled. 

A  characteristic  piece  of  niello  work  long  attributed  to  Finiguerra  but 
now  to  another  niellist  of  the  same  period,  Matteo  Dei  perhaps,  is  a  pax  rep- 
resenting the  Assumption  (Fig.  10).  This  pax  is  a  flat  piece  of  silver  used  in 
religious  ceremonials.  It  was  made  for  the  Florentine  church  of  St.  John 
in  the  year  1452.  By  means  of  this  pax  the  link  between  engraving,  as 
we  at  present  use  the  term,  and  fifteenth-century  Italian  niello,  was  estab- 

[  48  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

lished  by  one  Abbot  Zani.  In  1797,  he  discovered,  among  the  prints  in  the 
national  collection  in  Paris,  an  engraving;  a  print  (Fig.  11)  which  he  recog- 
nized as  the  reverse  of  the  niello  design  on  the  St.  John  pax  in  Florence. 
His  belief  was  materially  strengthened  by  the  inscription  at  the  top  of  the 
composition  which  reads  backwards :   ''assuvipta  est  Maria  in  celum, ' '  read- 


Fig.  10.     The  Pax  of  St.  John,  Florence. 

ing  from  right  to  left,  with  reversed  letters.  In  order  to  confirm  his  belief 
Zani  obtained  an  exact  drawing  of  the  design  on  the  pax  and  then,  by 
comparing  print  and  drawing,  line  for  line,  he  found  that  they  were  iden- 
tical, except  that  the  printed  design  was  reversed,  as,  being  printed,  it  had 
to  be.     From  the  condition  of  this  print,  the  clear  shade  and  the  precision 

[  49  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving" 

of  its  lines ;  from  the  fact  that  it  is  printed  with  nearly  the  same  strength 
of  color  in  all  its  parts,  and  because  it  is  nowhere  slm'red,  i.e.,  printed  care- 
lessly, in  the  sense  of  slight  overlappings  here  and  there,  it  is  extremely 
probable  that  the  artist  had  some  sort  of  a  ])ress  and  did  not  have  recourse, 


Fig.  11.      Print.      Pax  of  St.  John,  Florence. 

in  this  instance,  to  the  hand  roller  spoken  of  by  Vasari.  Now  if  the  cus- 
tom of  taking  prints  of  this  sort  had  become  so  general,  or  ever  of  so  much 
importance  to  the  chief  niello  artists  of  tlie  day  as  to  have  led  to  the  inven- 
tion of  the  simplest  press,  and  the  press  in  which  this  engraving  was  printed, 
however  simple  it  ma}^  have  been,  was  not  imperfect,  it  is  but  reasonable 

[  50  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

to  suppose  that  the  art  had  been  practiced  for  some  time  ])revious  to  Yii- 
sari's  date  of  1460.  Facts,  as  has  been  said,  now  estabhsh  the  vaHdity  of 
this  supposition.  Vasari  might,  and  with  much  reason,  have  considered 
the  art  of  engraving  as  un])erfected,  even  undiscovered,  before  a  sure  method 
of  printing  was  devised.  Furthermore,  the  earher  prints  made  by  hand 
with  a  roller,  or  by  rubbing,  lack  the  distinctness  of  line  which  the  press 
with  its  evener  weight  alone  insures.  Hence,  in  part,  it  happens  that  the 
very  early  prints  are  faint,  as  well  as  une\  en  in  color  and  more  or  less 
broken  in  line,  often  having  a  brownish  or  greenish  look,  which,  however, 
may  be  in  some  measure  due  to  poor  ink ;  poor  to  begin  with,  and  since 
faded. 

The  composition  of  this  "Assumption"  (Fig.  11)  which  includes,  within 
a  space  scarcely  larger  than  one's  hand,  above  forty  heads  and  nearly  half  that 
number  of  full-length  draped  figures,  and  is  not  confused,  will  a])pear  more 
and  more  remarkable  the  more  it  is  carefully  studied.  The  central  idea 
of  the  Virgin  enthroned  by  Christ's  side,  and  in  the  act  of  being  crowned 
by  Him,  is  made  to  dominate  the  whole  design.  Secondly,  our  attention 
is  claimed  by  the  homage  and  adoration  of  the  saints  and  martyrs,  and  all 
the  flower-bearing  and  trumpeting  hosts  of  heav^en.  It  is  a  beautiful 
drawing;  a  beautiful  piece  of  engraved  drawing'.  In  the  British  Museum 
there  is  a  cast  which  was  taken  from  the  same  plate,  the  silver  ])ax,  from 
which  the  impression,  or  ])rint,  found  by  Abbot  Zani  was  taken.  The 
taking  of  such  casts  from  niello  ])lates  after  tlie  engra\'ing  was  finished,  but 
before  the  bhick  enamel  had  been  melted  into  the  lines,  was  conunon.  It 
was  a  means  of  proving  the  work;  a  way  of  seeing  just  how  the  black 
would  look  when  it  should  be  melted  permanently  into  the  engraved  metal 
lines. 

The  process  was  simple.  The  depressed,  engraved  lines  of  the  metal 
plate  were  first  filled  with  a  fine  clay.  After  the  clay  had  set,  the  plate, 
really  a  mould,  was  removed.  The  design  on  the  plate  was  left  in  relief 
like  the  pattern  on  a  pat  of  butter  when  the  stani])  is  taken  off.  Melted 
sulphur  was  then  poured  over  this  clay  relief.  When  the  sulphur  was  hard 
it  formed  a  cast  of  the  raised  clay  design,  all  the  original  engraved  lines 
of  the  metal  plate  being  reproduced  with  accuracy.  In  other  words  the 
artist  now  had  an  engraved  sulphur  i)late,  a  perfect  cast  of  his  original  metal 
plate.  The  depressed  lines  of  this  sulphur  cast  were  then  filled  with  black, 
which  done,  the  artist  had  his  design  in  black  line  upon  a  yellowish  surface, 

[  '^1  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

a  thing  that  could  be  seen  clearly ;  that  looked  much  like  a  pen  drawing 
or  print  upon  straw-colored  paper.  This  thing  might  serve  him  as  a  me- 
mento of  his  work  after  he  had  parted  with  it.  It  also  gave  him  a  good 
chance  to  see  what  changes  might  be  made  to  advantage  before  finishing 
the  actual  niello. 

We  have  then,  in  Paris,  in  London,  and  in  Florence,  the  ink  print  on 
paper,  the  sulphur  cast,  and  the  silver  niello  plate;  complete  and  adequate 
evidence  in  the  case.  P'inally,  this  print  is  the  absolute  equivalent  of  an 
exquisite  drawing ;  as  good  as  the  drawing  would  have  been,  had  the  artist 
made  it  upon  paper  with  a  pen  or  pencil,  instead  of  on  silver  wdth  a  burin. 
And  thus,  practically  speaking,  do  all  prints  stand  to  the  metal  plates  from 
which  they  are  printed.  In  this  niello  "Assumption"  we  have  a  charac- 
teristic example  of  fifteenth-century  Florentine  drawing.  You  may  think, 
u])on  casual  examination,  that  the  fall  of  the  many  draperies,  and  the  atti- 
tudes of  the  many  figures,  were  taken  from  among  the  infinite  number  of 
such  things  in  actual  life.  But  upon  longer  and  close  examination  it  will 
appear  that  their  peculiar,  individual  beauty  and  naturalness  are  all  sub- 
dued into  relations  of  order,  barring  out  confusion,  and  of  harmony,  barring 
out  uninteresting  vacancy  in  one  part  of  the  picture,  and  disagreeable  crowd- 
ing in  another;  in  different  words,  we  have  a  design  or  composition,  i.e., 
an  arrangement  of  parts  by  human  agency,  in  which  the  naturalness  of 
nature,  so  far  as  the  parts  go,  has  been  zealously  adhered  to,  but  into  which 
clarity,  and  grace,  and  the  supreme  beauty  of  rhythmic  order  have  been 
introduced  by  art ;  in  fine,  a  work  of  art.  In  this  drawing,  really  print, 
are  exhibited  the  divine  power  of  the  human  mind  for  selecting  whatever 
best  serves  the  content  of  beauty,  and  its  not  less  divine  power  of  giving 
order  to  those  few  details  which  have  been  selected  from  the  infinitude  of 
natural  detail.  Nature  has  been  copied  with  fidelity  of  imitation,  as  she 
always  was  by  the  great  Italians,  especially  in  their  drawings,  but  com- 
bining these  imitated  details  into  a  pleasing  and  lovely  whole  implies  the 
artist's  fidelity  to  principles  which  are  not  in  nature.  This  is  the  essence 
of  art,  the  sole  source  of  which  is  the  mind  of  man.  Here  witnesseth  the 
artistic  power  of  invention,  or  creation,  the  beginning  of  which  is  a  fiery 
zeal  for  the  expression  of  exact  truth  to  fact,  and  the  end  of  which  is  a 
man-created  harmony,  at  best  a  heavenly  harmony.  In  great  art  the  real 
and  the  reasonable  are  never  forgotten  or  lost  sight  of.  The  tremendous 
fact,  and  in  this  fact  lies  all  the  good  of  great  art  to  man,  is  that  the  ideal 

[  52  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

is  made  visible  and  set  forever  within  our  reach.  Good  drawing,  in  the 
usual  sense  of  accurate  representation,  faithful  and  truthful  rendering  of 
the  forms  and  shapes  of  physical  objects,  is  the  first  essential;  the  essential 
which  ensures  respectability  to  a  work  of  art.  And  then  comes  the  second 
essential,  that  which  raises,  and  alone  can  raise,  the  respectable  to  the 
great — the  quality  of  thought,  creative,  powerful,  illuminating,  which  is 
begot  in  the  artist's  mind  and  is  given  body  in  the  artist's  work; — the 
rare,  unique,  and  individual  quality  of  his  thought  about  Mh  chosen  sub- 
ject, given  visible  and  individualistic  expression  so  that  all  men  may  share 
it ;  in  a  word,  his  personality,  his  style. 

For  a  moment  let  us  return  to  the  more  practical  consideration  of  the 
niello  plate  itself  and  the  process  of  its  making.  Think  of  the  design  on 
the  silver  pax  as  not  so  very  different  from  the  print ;  that  the  original  is 
a  small  drawing  in  black  line  on  a  silver  ground  which  differs  from  paper 
only  in  being  more  highly  polished.  Then  think  of  it  in  respect  to  its 
technique,  as  a  drawing,  but  one  made  under  a  thousand-fold  more  difficult 
conditions  than  any  to  which  we  are  accustomed,  because  each  line  had  to 
be  ploughed  out  of  the  silver  with  a  burin  instead  of  drawn  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  with  a  pencil.  Finally,  think  of  this  small  print  as  the  early  monu- 
ment of  an  art  which  made  the  designs  of  the  best  goldsmiths  in  Italy 
accessible  to  the  goldsmiths  of  the  transalpine  nations,  and  vice  versa; 
accordingly  of  its  influence  as  an  agent  for  spreading  knowledge  and  pleas- 
ure. Remember,  further,  that  through  the  development  of  this  art,  men 
became  possessed  alike  of  a  new  art,  and  a  capital  means  of  disseminating, 
broadcast,  knowledge  and  enjoyment  of  the  best  drawing.  So  thinking 
and  remembering,  we  must  recognize  in  the  art  of  the  engraver  an  agent 
for  the  advancement  of  culture,  and  in  its  inventor,  whoever  he  may 
have  been,  a  world's  benefactor. 

As  an  artistic  technician,  as  well  as  a  great  artist,  and  as  one  who 
expressed  certain  ideas  of  an  important  epoch  in  the  history  of  culture, 
the  Italian  painter,  Sandro  Botticelli,  with  his  sweet  coloring  and  quaint 
conceits  of  subject  and  treatment  of  subject,  appeared  with  the  dawn  of 
the  modern  world.  His  pictures  bear  witness  to  the  advance  which  had 
been  made  on  the  purely  technical  side  of  art,  since  the  days  of  its  infancy 
and  Giotto,  and  point  directly  to  those  of  its  maturity  and  Raphael. 
Their  subjects  announce  the  return  of  classical  learning,  then  beginning  to 
reillumine  the  world.     They  declare  the  era   of  the  restoration  of  the 

[  53  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

poetiy  and  i)hilosophy  of  Greece.  They  mark  the  beginnings  of  all  that 
the  term  Renaissance  implies;  all  that  the  humanities  stand  for.  Botti- 
celli painted  the  Christ  and  the  Virgin  of  Christianity,  or  Spring,  as 
described  by  the  Latin  poet,  Lucretius,  with  ecjual  delight  and  interest. 
This  variety  of  choice  marks  him  as  a  true  child  of  the  Renaissance;  as  a 
humanist  and  a  modern,  in  opposition  to  a  medieval,  an  ecclesiast  and  an 


Fig.   1^2.      Otto  Print.      Auonvinuus  cailv  Florentine  engraver. 


ascetic.  In  his  life  of  Botticelli,  Vasari  says  that  "being  a  person  of 
novel  pursuits  he  commented  on  Dante  and  designed,  i.e.,  made  drawings 
for,  and  engraved  the  "Inferno,"  about  which  work  he  consumed  a  great 
deal  of  time.  He  likewise  engraved  a  great  many  other  things  from  designs 
which  he  had  made,  but  in  an  indifferent  manner,  because  he  had  but  little 
skill  in  the  management  of  the  burin.*'  On  the  other  hand,  Vasari  makes 
no  mention  of  Botticelli  in  that  chapter  which  he  devotes  to  the  engravers, 

[  54  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

wherein,  after  the  notice  of  Finiguerra,  he  gives  a  brief  account  of  another 
engraver,  who  was,  in  his  opinion,  of  next  importance.  He  says:  "Fini- 
guerra was  followed  by  l^accio  Baldini,  a  Florentine  goldsmith  who,  not 
being  a  very  skillful  designer,  engraved  all  that  he  did  from  the  inventions 
and  designs  of  Sandro  Botticelli."  What  Vasari  says  amounts  to  this: 
'Botticelli  designed  well  and  engraved  poorly;  Baldini  engraved  well  and 
designed  poorly.'  Moreover,  there  is  a  considerable  number  of  well- 
designed  and  fairly  well-engraved  subjects  which  are  variously  attributed 
to  Botticelli  and  Baldini,  the  authorities  not  agreeing  as  to  the  exact  part 
which  either  of  them  took  in  the  work.  It  is  improbable,  however,  with 
all  the  pictures  which  Botticelli  painted  that  he  could  have  found  time  to 
engrave  extensively,  and  there  is  good  reason  to  doubt  his  having  had 
time  to  design  all  that  Baldini  is  credited  with  as  engraver.  This  is  not 
the  place  for  a  discussion  of  the  much  vexed  question  which  deals  with 
Botticelli  and  Baldini.  It  is,  however,  the  place  for  a  brief  consideration 
of  the  works  engraved  by  what  may  be  called  the  Botticelli-Baldini  group. 

The  well-known  circular  print  (Fig.  12),  representing  a  young  man  and 
a  young  woman  as  supporters  to  a  circular  shield,  is  ascribed  by  Ottley  ^  to 
Baldini.  The  balls  on  the  inner  circle,  and  the  words  above  the  heads  of 
the  figures,  are  scratched  in  with  a  pen  and  have  no  connection  with  the 
engraving.  The  design  may  have  been  worked  in  niello  on  the  top  of  a 
silver  box.  While  it  is  characteristic  of  the  fifteenth  century,  it  lacks  the 
unique  grace  which  pervades  Botticelli's  usual  treatment,  that  of  his  won- 
derful Dante  drawings,  for  example.  In  execution  it  is  very  dry  and 
hard,  though  very  delicate.^  This  print  is  ])robably  a  proof  taken  from  a 
work  prepared  for  niello.  It  is  clearly  printed,  but  somewhat  faint  in 
color,  and  was,  perhaps,  done  by  hand  with  a  roller.  In  technical  quality, 
as  in  design,  it  is  much  inferior  to  the  St.  John  pax  print  already  discussed. 

Another  print  of  this  period  is  the  design  on  the  title  page  (Fig.  13) 
of  a  very  interesting  book,  a  sacred  work  entitled  "II  Monte  Sancto  di 
Dio  " — "The  Holy  Hill  of  God" — printed  at  Florence  in  1477,  and  com- 
monly regarded  as  one  of  the  first  books,  perhaps  the  first,  to  be  illustrated 
with  copperplate  engravings.  The  three  full-page  illustrations  of  the 
"Monte  Sancto  di  Dio  "  have  been  much  discussed  as  to  their  authorship. 

^  "  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  and  Early  History  of  Engraving,"  by  W.  Y.  Ottley. 

2 It  is  one  of  the  so-called  "  Otto  Prints";  Otto,  because  the  majority  of  the  series  of  which  this 
is  one  was  owned  by  an  eighteenth-century  collector  of  that  name. 

[  55  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving-. 

In  a  notice  of  the  fine  copy  belonging  to  the  British  Museum,  the  hand- 
book' says,  "Whether  they  were  engraved  by  Baldini  or  BotticelU  is  a  point 
which  perhaps  will  never  be  settled."  The  subjects  are  "The  Glory  of 
Paradise,"  "The  Misery  of  Hell,"  and   "The  Mount  of  Christ."     The 


Fig.  13.      The  Holy  Mountain.      Anon.  Florentine  Engraver. 

figure  of  a  youth,  rather  lifeless,  and  clad  in  a  tunic  of  eminently  beautiful 
fifteenth-century  Florentine  design,  is  represented  as  standing  at  the  foot 
of  a  mountain,  the  height  of  which  is  compassed  by  a  ladder.  The  rungs 
are  variously  labeled,  Prudence,  Temperance,  Strength,  Justice,  Rever- 

^  "A  Handbook  to  the  Department  of  Prints  and  Drawings  in  the  British  Museum,"  by  Louis  Fagan. 

[  56  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

ence,  Piety,  Knowledge,  Fortitude,  Counsel,  Intelligence,  and  Wisdom, 
while  the  uprights  of  the  ladder  are  marked  Prayer  and  Sacrament.  At 
the  top  stands  Christ,  surrounded  by  angels  and  cherubim.  A  demon 
holds  the  youth,  bound  by  his  left  ankle,  while  near  by  on  the  ground 
one  reads  the  word  "  Hope,"  and  above  his  upturned  eyes  there  is  a  scroll 
bearing  these  words  of  the  121st  Psalm:  "I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto 
the  hills  from  whence  cometh  my  help.  My  help  cometh  from  the  I^ord. " 
As  a  design  this  is  inferior  to  the  "Assumption"  (Fig.  11)  on  the  St.  John 
pax,  but  it  is  superior  to  the  circular  print  (Fig.  12)  ascribed  to  Baldini. 
It  contains  much  that  is  charming  as  well  as  interesting,  apart  from  the 
expression  of  lingering  medieval  allegory,  at  this  time,  1477,  giving  way  to 
reviving  paganism.  One  point  of  great  technical  interest  should  be  noticed. 
The  words  on  the  scroll,  and  those  on  the  ground,  and  the  scarf  by  which 
the  youth  is  bound,  are  printed  in  their  proper  direction,  reading  from  left 
to  right,  which  shows  that  this  plate  must  have  been  engraved  with  especial 
reference  to  printing,  which  of  course  it  was,  and  places  it  in  an  entirely 
different  class  from  that  of  a  niello  work  like  the  pax  of  St.  John.  In  all 
of  this  early  Italian  engraving  the  outline  was  clearly  the  chief  concern  of 
the  artist.  When  he  did  make  use  of  shade  or  shadow  he  jealously 
guarded  the  outline  from  all  encroachments.  In  none  of  this  work  is 
there  anything  approaching  a  full  treatment  of  light  and  shade. 

We  now  come  to  a  set  of  famous  prints,  not,  however,  as  drawings, 
to  be  placed  on  the  high  level  of  downright  excellence;  those  for  Dante's 
"Inferno,"  by  some  ascribed  to  Botticelli.  As  a  rule  the  idea  to  be 
conveyed  far  outstrips,  in  beauty  and  importance,  the  means  of  its  con- 
veyance. What  the  best  drawing,  drawing  intended  as  an  end  in  itself, 
of  this  period  was  like  we  shall  see  at  a  glance  upon  looking  at  Botticelli's 
silver-point  and  pen-traced  designs  (Fig.  16)  for  the  "Divine  Comedy"; 
drawings  that  open  the  eyes  with  sheer  amazement,  so  surpassing  are  their 
mastery  and  charm,  but  not  so  any  of  the  engraved  drawing  of  the  time,  and, 
least  of  all,  these  famous  so-called  Botticelli  illustrations  for  the  "In- 
ferno." This  set  of  small  engravings,  twenty  in  number,  was  made  to 
furnish  head-pieces  for  the  first  nineteen  Cantos  of  the  "Inferno."  They 
appear  in  the  edition  printed  at  Florence  in  1481.  They  are  illustrations 
in  the  truest  sense,  because  they  do,  in  a  straightforward  manner,  illumi- 
nate and  make  clear,  in  the  medium  of  drawing,  of  line,  the  simple, 
exact,  and  wonderfully  concrete  statements  of  the  text.     They  are  not  the 

[  57  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 


Fig.   14.      Dante's  Divine  Comedy,  1481. 


more  or  less  unrelated  fancies  of  the  sort  the  so-called,  but  second-rate, 
illustrator  makes,  in  whose  mind  the  text  conjures  up  pictures,  worth 
while  they  may  be  as  pictures,  but  not  as  illustrations,  i.e.,  pictures  bear- 
ing directly  upon  the  text.  For  example,  the  print  made  for  Canto  XII 
(Fig.  14)  shows  the  Minotaur,  a  vile  animal  perfectly  defined  by  Hawthorne 
as  '  'an  enemy  of  his  fellow  creatures  and  separated  from  all  good  compan- 
ionship," on  discovering  Dante  and  Virgil  and  finding  himself  unable  to 
harm  them  turning  upon  and  rending  himself.  Dante  says,  "And  when 
he  saw  us  he  bit  himself  as  one  whom  wrath  rends  inwardly."  Thus  he 
appears  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  the  plate,  with  I^ante  and  his  guide 
looking  on  in  horrified  amazement.  Again,  in  the  center  of  the  same  plate, 
Virgil  and  Dante  are  shown  on  the  margin  of  the  river  of  blood,  in  which 
are  the  murderers;  "in  which,"  says  the  poet,  "boils  whoso  doth  harm  to 
others  by  violence,  crying,  'O  blind  cupidity,  both  guilty  and  mad,  that 
so  spurs  us  in  the  brief  life,  and  then  in  the  eternal  sleeps  us  so  ill.'" 
The  centaurs  are  shown  on  the  river  banks,  armed,  "as  in  the  world  they 
were  used  to  go  to  the  chase."  It  is  their  duty  to  shoot  down  the  mur- 
derers when  they  show  their  heads  above  the  boiling  crimson  stream. 
Finally,  at  the  right-hand  side,  Dante  appears  for  a  third  time.      He  is 

[  58  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

mounted  on  the  back  of  a  centaur  and  is  being  carried  and  instructed 
according  to  the  commands  of  Chiron,  the  chief  centaur,  who  makes 
known  his  discovery  that  Dante  is  flesh,  and  not  a  spirit,  in  the  w^ords 
addressed  to  his  companion,  "Are  ye  aware  that  he  moves  what  he 
touches? "  The  other  engravings  are  equally  good,  considered  as  illustra- 
tions of  the  immortal  text.  But  it  is  for  this  and  not  for  their  technique, 
or  as  drawings,  that  they  are  famous.  They  consist  of  distinct  outline 
and  very  simple  crosshatched  shade.  Their  brownish  and  faint  color,  and 
a  look  which  in  places  almost  suggests  blotting,  have  led  some  to  believe 
them  the  result  of  hand  printing,  a  belief  scarcely  tenable.  But  whenever 
and  wherever  poor  printing  appears  there  is  a  striking  proof,  negative 
though  it  be,  to  the  credit  which  a  good  printer,  one  who  has  a  keen  eye 
and  a  sure  touch,  deserves;  testimony  to  the  value  of  good  printing;  a 
justification  of  Hamerton's  memorable  remark  about  the  famous  Englisli 
printer  of  etchings,  Golding,  who  he  said  had  "the  eye  of  an  artist  and 
the  hand  of  a  duchess."  But  this  bears  upon  the  subject  of  the  press,  and 
the  relation  of  printed  pictures  to  printed  letters,  what  is  called  letter- 
press, rather  than  upon  engraving  as  such. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  Botticelli's  drawings  (Fig.  16)  intended  as 
illustrations  for  the  "Divine  Comedy"  in  distinction  from  the  engravings 
to  the  "Inferno. "  As  such,  each  one  of  these  drawings  possesses  the  vital 
characteristics  of  good  illustrations  at  all  times  and  everywhere.  These 
characteristics  have  been  described,  and  it  has  been  pointed  out  that  because 
they  possess  these  characteristics  the  so-called  Dante  engravings  are 
unusual.  But  while  they  do  not  always  adhere  closely  to  Botticelli's 
known  authentic  drawings,  they  do,  none  the  less,  adhere  closely  enough 
to  make  it  certain  that  the  engraver,  whoever  he  may  have  been,  had  the 
Botticelli  drawings  constantly  before  him  as  models.  They  are,  however, 
compared  with  the  actual  drawings,  utterly  inferior.  The  engravings  are 
interesting  from  the  standpoint  of  engraving  rather  than  as  works  of  art. 
It  would  be  unfair  to  compare  the  two,  for  the  drawings  are  among  the 
very  greatest  things  of  art,  absolutely  without  regard  to  time,  place,  or 
nationality.  They  cannot  be  studied  too  attentively  by  any  one  sincerely 
wishing  to  learn  what  consummate  drawing  means,  or  desiring  to  share 
in  the  delights  which  such  drawing  offers  to  all  who  understand  it. 

It  may  be  granted  without  argument  that  Botticelli's  drawing  has 
certain  stylistic  attributes  which  give  to  it  a  fixed  sameness.     To  take 

[  59  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

this  sameness  for  a  blemish  is  to  fail  to  recognize  one  of  the  most  charac- 
teristic features  of  Botticelli's  unparalleled  genius  for  expression.  By 
stylistic  attributes  are  meant,  for  example,  that  type  of  head  which  is 
never  to  be  taken  for  the  work  of  any  other  artist.  The  same  is  true  of 
his  draperies,  with  their  peculiar  sense  of  fresh  breeziness.  There  is  about 
his  every  line  and  touch  a  breath  as  of  the  spring,  the  springtime  of  the 
world  as  well  as  of  individual  lives  and  seasons;  a  breath  of  promise  rather 
than  fulfillment ;  promise  and  fulfillment  of  the  eternal  beauties  of  which 
the  beauties  of  this  world  give  but  shadowy  hints.  And  once  having 
found  a  satisfactory  means  for  suggesting  his  ideas  he  then  sticks  to  those 
means.  They  become  his  stylistic  attributes.  For  example,  a  certain 
melancholy  cast  of  features,  due,  in  large  part,  to  the  fact  that  the 
eyelids  are  drawn  with  an  invariable  droop,  suggestive  of  heaviness,  as  if 
in  the  sweet  act  of  waking.  Again,  his  draperies  are  intricately  conv^o- 
luted,  and  the  lines  which  depict  their  convolutions  are  almost  always 
sharply  hooked,  hooks  and  convolutions  being  always  the  same.  Or,  still 
again,  his  lips  are  fuller  than  ordinary  and  his  chins  more  pointed.  Over 
and  over  again  Botticelli  uses  these  means  or  attributes.  They  are 
stylistic  because  preeminently  his  own  and  not  another's,  in  precisely  the 
same  way  that  Dante  in  his  writing  makes  use  of  analogous  stylistic  attri- 
butes which  he  never  changes.  For  instance,  Dante  uses  the  same 
formula,  so  to  speak,  over  and  over  again  when  he  wishes  to  set  all  his 
readers  to  thinking  of  a  given  subject,  but  leaves  each  one  of  them  to 
think  of  it  with  such  degree  of  force  as  his  individual  nature  will  allow. 
Thus,  when  he  describes  Cato  in  the  first  book  of  "Purgatory,"  he  says,  an 
old  man  "in  aspect  worthy  of  so  much  reverence  that  no  son  owes  more 
to  his  father."  To  the  reverence  which  all  sons  owe  to  their  fathers 
Dante  calls  the  attention  of  the  whole  vast  army  of  his  readers,  present 
and  to  come.  To  each  individual  of  that  army  he  then  leaves  the  settling 
of  the  degree  of  reverence  due  Cato  by  compelling  the  individual  to  decide 
upon  the  reverence  which  he  owes  his  own  father,  in  every  case  less  than 
that  owed  Cato.  Instead  of  producing  a  tiresome,  hence  unnatural, 
sense  of  weariness  and  repetition,  this  fixed  mode  of  artistic  procedure 
gives  the  artist,  whether  he  be  draughtsman  like  Botticelli,  or  builder  of 
word  structures  like  Dante,  his  greatest  opportunity  for  expression,  by 
allowing  him  to  make  endless  slight  variation  in  the  application  of  his  con- 
stant formula  as  he  applies  it  to  his  theme,   whether  it  be  mankind  or 

[  60  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

nature;    each,   in  his  class,   one  of  that  class;   each,   in  his  variation,  an 
individual. 

It  has  not  been  sufficiently  remarked,  if  at  all,  by  the  students  of 
Botticelli  that  his  drawing  is  of  the  medieval  time  distinctly,  and  not  of  the 
Renaissance;  and,  so  too,  his  coloring,  but  not  his  ideas.  His  own,  we 
mean;  i.e.,  his  ideas  concerning  a  classic  subject  such  as  "Venus  Rising 
from  the  Sea"  in  contradistinction  to  his  expression  of  Dante's  ideas,  as 
he  depicts  them  in  line  for  illuminating,  making  plainer,  in  a  word,  illus- 
trating Dante's  words.    And  here  again  is  proof  of  his  consummate  power 


Fij;.   15.      Drawinjj  bv  Villars  de  Hounecourt. 


as  a  truthful  illustrator.  It  is  a  fact  that  Botticelli's  figure  drawings  are 
close  kin  to  the  figures  of  medieval  French  sculpture;  the  same  is  true  of 
his  drawings  of  the  things  of  nature,  trees  and  x)lants.  But  as  we  are  not 
used  to  medieval  drawing,  and  as  it  is  difficult  at  best  to  see  the  basic 
similarities  between  actual  sculpture  and  drawing,  even  when  they  are  con- 
temporary, we  shall  do  well  to  have  recourse  to  a  bit  of  medieval  drawing 
to  enforce,  if  not  to  prove,  the  point  in  question.  It  will  not  take  long 
looking  at  a  typical  figure  (Fig.  15)  from  the  sketch-book  of  Villars  de 
Honnecourt  when  set  beside  a  figure  out  of  Botticelli's  Dante  drawings 
(Fig.  16)  to  see  that  they  are  stylistically  and  technically  identical  despite 

[  61  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 


w 


•.■-'>>»•■ 


I  .  ./ 


JSi :' ;.  im 


'  il  J. 


Xvtlf  7\>-^""  /m^  , 


V 


Fig.  16.      Drawing  by  Botticelli.      Dante's  Divine  Comedy. 

the  fact  that  the  former  is  much  inferior  to  the  latter.  The  same  of  a  bit  of 
A'illars's  plant  drawing  beside  the  mystical  flowers  and  leaves  which  I^otti- 
celli  drew  for  Dante's  "Paradiso"  ;  the  flowers  from  which  the  souls  of  the 
just,  made  perfect,  were  seen  by  Dante  to  rise  and  return  as  bees  out  of  the 
hearts  of  the  blossoms  of  earth.  But,  as  is  always  the  case  with  works  of 
transcendent  art,  no  matter  how  mystical  or  how  idealistic,  these  drawings 
by  Botticelli  have  an  elemental  existence  in  the  recognizable  realities  of  this 
world.  William  Blake  belongs  in  the  same  class  of  draughtsmen,  to  cite 
its  single  modern  member.  It  is  not  probable  that  any  man  ever  drew 
trees  in  what  may  be  called  the  specific  abstract  manner  with  more  entire 
genius  than  Botticelli  in  his  illustrations  for  Canto  XXVIII  of  the  "Pur- 
atory"'  (Fig.  16).  Look  at  the  root-growth  branches,  and  at  the  foliage  of 
countable  touches  yet  so  suggestive  of  the  universal  in  that  it  is  so  true  to 
all  specific  foliage.  This  is  the  specific  abstract  manner  and  it  is  the  man- 
ner of  all  truly  great  artists.  Look  also  at  the  grass,  placed  where  it  is  for 
its  own  sake,  i.e.,  recognizably  drawn,  and  for  the  sake  of  making  clear 
just  where  the  stream  edge  is.     To  the  extreme  left,  entering  this  forest  of 

[  62  ] 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

the  Earthly  Paradise,  we  see  Virgil,  Statius,  and  Dante.  Again,  in  the 
middle  left,  we  see  them  just  as  they  reach  the  border  of  the  strangest, 
loveliest,  and  most  real  of  rivers  as  Dante  pictures  it.  Dante,  looking  across 
the  stream,  in  the  right  distance  sees  Matilda  gathering  flowers  on  the 
further  bank.  Finally,  to  the  middle  right,  hearing  and  heeding  Dante's 
call,  Matilda  comes  so  that  he  may  see  her  near  by.     The  loveliness  of 


Fig.   17.      Parnassus.      Claude  Lorrain. 

nature  and  the  possible  dignity  of  man,  together  with  the  innocence  and 
joy  of  the  sinless  state  in  Eden,  are  liere  bodied  forth  in  a  composition 
which  foretells  Raphael's  Parnassus,  the  Parnassus  of  Claude  (Fig.  17),  and 
the  best  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes,  but  is  essentially,  poetically,  the  superior  of 
all  three;  a  M'ork,  as  illustrative  of  a  given  text,  consummate,  and,  jjer  sc, 
i.e.,  as  a  drawing,  not  less  consummate;  the  sort  of  drawing  which  no 
Italian  engraver  ever  did,  and  least  of  all  that  Baldini  whose  name  Vasari 

[  63  ] 


Fig.   18.      Assumption  of  the  Virgin.      Anon.  Florentine  Engraver  (l  5th  century). 


The  Beginnings  of  Line  Engraving  in  Italy 

has  coupled  inseparably  with  Botticelli's  but  whose  work,  interesting  and 
important  as  it  is,  has  not  the  faintest  touch  of  the  simplicity  which  is 
sublime;  the  simplicity  which  stamps  with  immortality  such  work  as  Botti- 
celli's Dante  drawings  and  the  equally  great  and  strangely  similar  drawings 
made  by  William  Blake  for  the  "Book  of  Job. " 

More  closely  resembling  the  style  of  Botticelli's  drawing  and  comjio- 
sition,  yet  ftir  inferior  to  either,  are  some  large  Florentine  engravings  of 
anonymous  authorship,  among  them  the  "Assumption  of  the  A^irgin'" 
(Fig.  18).  In  ev^ery  respect  this  truly  fine  print,  the  best  of  the  group, 
noble  in  the  disposition  of  its  masses,  dramatic  in  its  action,  and  affec- 
tionate in  the  treatment  of  every  detail,  suggests  the  unicpie  Florentine 
master  though  falling,  as  has  been  said,  far  short  of  the  works  in  pencil 
and  oil  by  which  he  stands  as  a  known  and,  Blake  excei)ted,  certainly 
unicjue  quantitj^  in  the  world  of  art.  Beside  this  "Assum])tion'*  the 
"Monte  Sancto  di  Dio"  (Fig.  13)  engravings  are  crude,  as  beside  the 
actual  silver-i)oint,  pen-touched  drawings  of  Botticelli  (Fig.  16)  this 
"Assumption"  is  in  its  turn  crude. 


[  65  ] 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    BEGINNINGS   OF    LINE    ENGRAVING 
AND   WOOD    IN   THE    NORTH 


I 


T  has  already  been  said  that  wood  engraving,  in  point  of  time,  prob- 
ably preceded  metal  engraving,  and  that  wood  engraving  was  of  northern 
origin.  About  this  subject,  as  about  the  invention  and  origin  of  metal 
engraving,  there  has  been  much  argument  and  dispute.  Let  us  pass  the 
matter  by,  regarding  it  as  sufficient  for  the  present  purpose  if  we  add  that 
there  is  reason  for  believing  that  the  Chinese  practiced  the  art  of  wood 
engraving  at  a  very  early  date,  and  that  there  is  some  reason  for  thinking 
that  the  art  was  known  in  Italy  as  earl}^  as  the  thirteenth  century ;  that  possi- 
bly it  was  brought  to  Italy  from  the  East.  There  is  a  woodcut  of  German  or 
Flemish  manufacture,  a  St.  Christopher  (Fig.  20),  bearing  the  date  1423, 
and  one,  "long  believed,"  as  Hamerton  says,  "the  Adam  of  all  our  wood- 
cuts." This  Adam,  like  the  real  Adam,  has  been  called  into  question  by 
modern  research  which  accepts  no  extant  woodcut  as  earlier  than  1450,  i.e., 
to  which  a  date  can  be  certainly  ascribed.  That  some  extant  woodcuts 
are  of  earlier  date  than  1450  is  not  to  be  doubted.  A  decree  of  the  A^ene- 
tian  Senate  in  1441  forbade  the  importation  of  foreign  printed  pictures  and 
cards.  But  of  such  woodcuts  there  are  no  authentically  dated  examples. 
So  much  of  the  history  and  origins  of  art  as  has  been  made  out  to  the 
present  time  tends  to  prove  that  in  their  beginnings  the  arts,  speaking 
generally,  were  in  very  close  relation  to  one  another.  It  is  in  the  course 
of  their  later  development  that  they  appear  to  diverge,  and  in  the  periods 
of  their  greatest  accomi)lishment  that  they  appear  to  differ  most.  And 
yet,  in  such  periods  of  artistic  development  also,  again  generally  speaking, 
the  relations  of  art  to  art  are  very  intimate  and  close  although  they  may 
seem  remote.     This  seeming  so  is  largely  due  to  our  imperfect  understand- 

[  67  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

ing  of  the  highly  finished  products  of  art  as  compared  with  our  compre- 
hension of  the  earUer  and  less  developed  products.  The  drawing  of  primitive 
ages  and  that  of  the  great  men  of  times  renowned  for  the  excellence  of 
artistic  production  bear  closer  resemblance  to  each  other  than  the  best 
painting  of  primitive  ages  and  that  of  times  renowned  for  their  develop- 
ment of  this  particular  art.  And,  as  has  been  said,  it  is  often  much  easier 
to  get  at  an  artist's  intentions,  his  fundamental  ways  of  looking,  and  think- 
ing, through  his  drawings  than  through  his  finished  pictures,  the  very 
complexity  of  which  not  infrequently,  for  a  time  at  least,  defeats  our 
understanding  of  them.  In  all  good  drawing,  primitive  or  the  reverse,  a 
faithful  transcript  of  fact  is  the  prime  aim  of  the  artist.  In  other  words, 
the  ruling  passion  is  for  faithful,  highly  accurate  likenesses,  no  matter 
what  the  subject.  This  the  artist  recognizes  as  the  first  requirement  put 
upon  him  if  he  is  to  be  understood;  if  his  subject  is  to  be  recognized.  In 
short,  he  must,  if  he  is  to  be  understood,  speak  in  terms  of  a  familiar  and 
common  language,  which  terms,  in  graphic  art,  i.e.,  the  picture  art,  are 
the  universally  known  and  recognizable  shapes  of  all  objects,  animate  and 
inanimate.  To  tell  us  what  he  thinks  about  these  objects;  to  make  us  see 
how  he  has  been  moved  or  inspired  in  the  presence  of  these  objects,  any, 
it  may  be  many  or  few  of  them ;  to  lift  us,  who  look  at  his  pictures  of  these 
objects,  to  his  level  of  comprehension  and  make  us,  through  his  works, 
possible  sharers  in  his  more  intense  and  extensive  participation  in  the  realms 
of  understanding  and  emotion;  to  do  these  things,  and  more,  is  the  artist's 
peculiar  privilege  and  splendid  duty.  It  is  thus  that  he  increases  the 
world's  stock  of  reverence  by  adding  to  the  stock  of  those  things  which 
men,  as  individuals,  hold  in  reverence  when  once  they  discover  them. 
This  means  discovering  new  sublimities  and  beauties  in  life  and  in  nature, 
to  do  which  is  the  be-all  and  end-all  of  art.     In  a  word, 

"To  burst  through  nature's  portals,  from  the  crowd 
With  jealous  caution  closed;"" 

to  make  "the  crowd"  joint  partners  in  what  is  discovered,  by  making 
"the  crowd"  understand  and  appreciate  what  it  could  not  for  itself  have 
discovered  or  entered  into. 

Desire  for  faithful  likeness,  no  matter  what  the  subject,  urges  an  artist 
toward  accurate  imitation  of  his  model,  and  leads  him  to  make  the  effort 
to  solve  germane  problems  such  as  foreshortening  and  perspective,  as  well 

[  68  ] 


Line  Engraving-  and  Wood  in  the  North 

as  to  become  master  of  his  tools  and  materials,  pencils  and  paper,  brushes 
and  canvas,  copper  plate,  burin,  and  needle.  These  and  similar  concerns 
alike  occupy  the  artistic  mind  in  the  beginnings  of  an  individual's  practice, 
or  in  the  early  youth  of  a  people's  art.  Artist,  or  art,  works  from  the  par- 
ticular to  the  general,  during  an  individual  life  or  a  period,  if  the  life  be 
really  vital,  or  the  period  truly  distinguished.  Art,  practiced  by  able  men 
in  great  days,  such  for  example  as  those  of  Pericles  or  Pope  Julius  II,  is 
the  never-to-be-doubted  and  never- failing  witness  of  lucid  thought  seeking 
to  find  correspondingly  lucid  forms  of  expression.  All  great  art  is,  as 
Shelley  knew  well  when  he  wrote  "Hellas,"  "based  on  the  crystalline  sea 
of  thought  and  its  eternity. "  It  is  then,  and  then  only,  that  art  rises  from 
the  particular  to  the  general,  becoming  abstract  and  universal  while  it  con- 
tinues to  be  concrete;  universal  and  abstract  in  its  personal  declarations 
about  significance ;  concrete  and  particular  in  its  portrayal  of  the  facts  which 
are  the  vehicles  of  significance  to  others.  Thus  it  happens  that  archaic 
Greek  sculpture,  looked  on  en  masse,  is,  in  many  respects,  childish,  while, 
in  the  most  archaic  examples  of  this  sculpture,  there  is  an  expression  of 
evident  desire  for  likeness  of  parts  though  portraiture  of  the  whole  was 
beyond  the  sculptor's  reach.  As  we  compare  earlier  Greek  sculpture  with 
later  we  discover  ever  increasing  ability  in  respect  to  portraiture  of  the 
whole,  together  with  better  and  better  technique,  but  when  we  come  to 
the  marbles  which  mark  the  culmination  of  Greek  art  in  the  person  of 
Phidias  we  find  the  tendency  to  restricted  imitation  of  the  particular,  or 
individual,  disregarded,  and  that  the  carver  in  those  consummate  master- 
pieces of  genius,  which  are,  j^ar  excellence,  classic  art,  has  so  refined  upon 
the  universal  type  as  to  put  individual  life  into  what  is  the  image  of  no 
individual  form;  in  other  words,  that  he  has  reached  that  general  which 
is  the  ideal.  A  ])arallel  instance  is  to  be  found  in  the  sculpture  and  paint- 
ing of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  in  the  work  of  Nicolas  of  Pisa,  Donatello, 
and  Raphael. 

The  same  will  be  found  to  hold  true  of  early  and  later  Italian  engrav- 
ing, merely  another,  though  more  difficult,  method  of  drawing,  as  has  been 
insisted  upon.  From  one  point  of  view,  engraving,  in  technique  at  least, 
is  nearer  to  sculpture  than  to  ordinary  drawing  or  painting,  which  latter  is, 
after  all,  nothing  more  than  simple  drawing  of  outline  to  which  light,  and 
shade,  and  color  have  been  added,  but  added  with  the  brush,  which  is  an 
instrument  as  easy  of  manipulation  almost  as  the  pencil ;  in  point  of  ease 

[  69  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

almost  as  far  removed  from  the  burin,  as  the  burin  is  from  the  pencil  or 
the  pen.  Far  too  little  attention  is  generally  given  to  the  really  close  rela- 
tion which  exists  between  sculpture  and  drawing.  They  are  both  pri- 
marily arts  of  form,  one,  dealing  with  form,  the  defining  of  form  in  solid 
material ;  the  other,  with  defining  sha])e  as  re])resenting  form  in  solid  ma- 
terial, on  flat  surfaces.  Sculpture  is  an  art  of  three  and  drawing  an  art  of 
two  dimensions;  but  they  are  fundamentally  one  in  that  they  both  depend, 
first  of  all,  upon  outline,  i.e.,  on  bounding  definition  of  contours.  If  we 
can  imagine  a  man,  analogous  to  a  sculptured  figure  in  the  full  round, 
moving  backward,  first  against,  and  then  into  the  wall,  until  his  form  is 
half  concealed,  we  have  the  condition  of  bas-relief  sculpture.  Further, 
imagine  him  as  passing  through  the  wall  and  leaving  a  clean-cut  hole  of 
his  exact  shape.  The  contour  of  the  hole  is  an  outline  in  a  single  plane, 
or  on  a  flat  surface  if  we  but  choose  so  to  think  of  it.  Now  think  of  a 
sheet  of  paper  on  which  this  outline  is  traced,  the  exact  counterpart  of  the 
hole,  and  you  have  an  outline  drawing  of  the  man  or  sculptured  figure  in 
full  round.  If  we  add  light  and  shade  to  this  outline  we  get  the  appear- 
ance of  solidity,  a  drawing  in  chiaroscuro.  It  is  of  course  to  be  remem- 
bered that  these  two  arts  are  governed  by  different  conventions,  but  it 
should  be  recognized  nevertheless  that  they  go  back  to  identical  beginnings. 
In  this  connection  there  is  another  important  point  too  often  overlooked ; 
a  point  which,  in  part,  and  no  small  part,  accounts  for  the  differences  and 
wide  separation  between  Italian  art  on  the  one  hand,  and  German  or  Flem- 
ish on  the  other;  between  the  drawing,  hence  the  engraving,  of  these 
peoples;  namely,  the  artistic  traditions  and  inheritances  which  an  artist, 
school  of  artists,  or  a  nation  receives  or  lacks.  Consider  wiiat,  in  these 
respects,  was  the  difference  between  the  Italians  and  the  peoples  of  the 
North  of  France,  Germany,  Flanders,  and  England  when  the  Renaissance 
began  to  dawn ;  when  the  better  days  of  the  eleventh  century  drew  on  to 
the  great  awakening  of  all  that  art  and  letters  implied  in  the  history  and 
the  life  of  culture  of  latter-day  medievalism  and  the  Renaissance.  Tradi- 
tion and  inheritances,  with  nations,  as  with  individuals,  are  blessings  from 
which  the  element  of  potential  harm  is  never  absent.  In  other  words, 
they  may  work  for  evil  as  well  as  good. 

The  tradition  of  Greek  art,  and  of  Roman,  the  lineal  descendant  of 
Greek,  lasted  well  into  the  Middle  Ages — greatly  impaired,  it  is  true — 
and  was  present,  a  potent  presence,  at  the  revival.     It  became  sponsor  for 

[  ^0  ] 


Line  Engraving'  and  Wood  in  the  North 

the  arts  and  letters  of  the  Renaissance.  Along  with  these  indestructible 
traditions  of  the  artistic  greatness  of  the  past,  of  those  men  who  were  the 
forebears  of  the  Italians,  and  of  whom  the  Italians  were  and  are  so  justly 
proud,  came  also  a  vast  legacy  of  actual  works  of  art,  paintings,  mosaics, 
metal  objects,  and  sculpture,  not  to  name  literature  and  architecture. 
And  in  all  of  these  arts  the  Italian  artist  of  the  earliest  days  of  the 
Renaissance  recognized  two  characteristics  notably  wanting  in  his  own 
works  at  that  time — characteristics  absolutely  vital  to  all  great  art — 
truthful  representation  of  the  facts  of  nature,  together  with  a  far  better 
technique  than  was  then  displayed  in  any  contemporary  work.  Beyond 
this  they  dimly  recognized,  in  the  ancient  things  of  Rome,  the  quality  of 
abstract  and  generalized  beauty  which  characterized,  more  than  all  else, 
the  classical  and  ideal  treatment  of  life  and  nature  particularly  in  Greek 
art.  Art  that  had  shut  itself  in  from  the  world  and  been  frozen  by 
rule  and  canon,  with  the  result  that  it  had  become  largely  a  matter  of 
repetition,  vain  repetition,  and  moribund,  now  broke  its  bounds,  and,  in 
doing  so,  as  Browning  says,  found  "soaring  room."  This  is  the  vital 
purport  of  the  Renaissance.  The  first  aim  of  the  artist  was  to  make  his 
drawing  look  real  in  the  sense  of  being  true  to  life ;  the  final  goal  of  the 
artist  was  to  keep  his  drawing,  his  pictures,  real  and  lifelike,  yet  add  to 
them  the  quality  of  the  ideal,  in  appearance,  and  of  design  or  pattern,  in 
construction.  In  short,  he  took  his  art  to  nature,  "the  mistress  of  all 
high  intelligences,"  while  he  set  up  the  splendid  things  of  Greek  and 
Latin  days  as  models  of  technical  perfection  and  beauty.  And  the  final 
result  was  the  art  of  the  Renaissance,  culminatingly  personified  by  Titian, 
Raphael,  and  Michelangelo.  Doing  these  two  things,  and  being  possessed 
of  gigantic  intellects  and  imaginations,  it  is  no  wonder  these  men  reached 
the  heights  they  did ;  heights  which  have  invariably,  compared  with  the 
utmost  reaches  of  every  subsequent  generation,  appeared,  in  exaltation,  as 
the  eagle  when  he  soars  aloft  over  the  highest  peak.  The  Italians,  in 
the  fostering  presence  of  the  antique,  perceived  that  great  art  implied 
much  more  than  the  mere  copying  of  nature.  The  French,  Germans, 
and  Flemish,  on  the  other  hand,  true  lovers  of  nature,  when  they  made 
their  earliest  essays  at  art  in  the  northern  lands,  lacked  such  tradition 
altogether,  and,  accordingly,  any  inherited  conceptions  of  abstract  beauty. 
Hence  we  shall  search  in  vain  through   their  works  for  that   especial 

[  71  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

character  which  we  call  the  antique  or  classic.^  German  and  Flemish 
art  fm*nishes  splendid  illustration  of  the  minute  and  reverent  regard  for 
exact  likeness  of  all  that  the  world  contained  for  the  sturdy  northern 
artist.  Much  of  it  is  homely,  but  none  of  it  is  dull,  and  even  that  which 
at  first  appears  exceedingly  crude  will  often,  upon  examination,  be  found 
to  contain  elements  human  and  lovely  in  very  liigh  degree.  Italian  art 
on  the  one  hand,  and  French,  German,  and  Flemish  art  on  the  other, 
neither  in  their  infancy  nor  in  their  maturity,  are  to  be  compared,  but 
they  are  to  be  studied  with  absolute  certainty  of  inspiration  by  liberal- 
minded  })eople  in  search  of  that  culture  which  implies  an  understanding 
and  appreciation  of  art  in  general  as  well  as  in  particular.  We  should 
remember  that  together  they  form  our  inheritance,  and  that  this  implies 
for  us,  as  heirs,  certain  obligations;  above  all,  the  obligation  of  under- 
standing, hence  appreciating. 

The  nature  of  the  materials  em])loyed  in  the  art  of  engraving,  and  the 
corresponding  influence  upon  the  character  of  the  results,  is  a  matter  of 
vital  import  in  connection  with  this,  as  it  is  with  all  other  arts.  We 
know,  for  example,  how  rugged  and  even  crude  the  sculptures  of  the 
Sicilian  Greek  temples  appear  when  compared  with  those  of  Athens,  and 
many  persons  think  this  is  so,  and  naturally  so,  because  the  Sicilian  Greek 
sculptors  belonged  to  an  earlier  period  than  those  of  Attica.  But  had  the 
fact  that  the  Sicilians  often  carved  a  coarse-grained  volcanic  stone,  while 
the  Greek  carved  the  finest  quality  of  marble,  nothing  to  do  with  the 
widely  differing  results?  Of  course  it  had,  for  every  one  knows  how  on 
one  sort  of  stone  the  finest  edge  and  most  polished  surface  can  be  put, 
while,  on  another,  blunt  edges  and  uneven  surfaces  are  the  extreme 
accomplishment  within  the  power  of  the  ablest  workman.  The  true  artist 
respects  the  integrity  of  the  material  and  tool  with  which  he  is  working, 
by  not  attempting  to  get  results  technically  excellent  beyond  what  is 
compatible  with  the  limitations  which  such  materials  and  tools  establish. 
The  sculptor  will  not  try,  even  though  by  reason  of  extraordinary  skill 
he  can  in  a  measure  do  so,  to  give  the  refinement  appropriate  for  Parian 
marble  and  ivory  to  rough-grained  sandstone  and  chalk.  Just  so  the 
engraver  of  wood,  which  is  a  coarse-grained  material  compared  with  silver 
or  copper,  will  not  attempt  to  make  lines  like  those  which  he  would  cut 
on  metal,  if  he  be  a  real  artist ;  such  an  artist  as  were  the  great  German 

^  There  are  citable  exceptions,  but  ndt  a  body  of  exceptions  sufficient  to  invalidate  the  rule. 

[  72  ] 


Ltine  Engraving-  and  Wood  in  the  North 

and  Flemish  engravers.  This  is  a  point  which  calls  for  emphasis.  The 
German  and  Flemish  wood  engravings  with  their  heavy  lines  are  not  nec- 
essarily inferior  to  metal  engravings  with  their  exquisite  fine  strokes 
because  in  one  the  work  is  heavy  and  in  the  other  delicate.  The  theory 
and  process  of  wood  engraving  differ  radically  from  the  theory  and  process 
of  metal  engraving,  because  in  wood  engraving  the  design  is  made  to  stand 
up;  in  other  words,  the  design  is  left  in  relief  by  cutting  away  the  sur- 
rounding surface.  To  take  a  print  from  a  wood  block,  those  parts  of  the 
block  left  in  relief,  the  design  or  drawing,  are  inked.  The  ])rinciple  is 
the  same  as  that  of  an  ordinary  rubber  stamp.  Upon  bringing  this  inked 
design  or  drawing,  the  relief,  into  contact  with  a  sheet  of  pai)er,  it,  i.e., 
the  design  or  drawing,  is  at  once  transferred  to  the  paper,  perfect  but 
reversed.  Those  parts  of  the  block  which  have  been  cut  away  in  order  to 
leave  the  raised  design  naturally  have  no  effect  upon  the  paper  during  the 
process  of  printing.  In  other  words,  the  portions  of  the  block  which  ha\  e 
been  cut  away  are  represented  by  untouched  white  paper,  while  the  por- 
tions left,  i.e.,  the  design  or  drawing,  are  represented  by  black  ink  lines. 

To  print  a  metal  plate,  the  lines,  the  incisions  that  form  the  design 
or  subject,  are  filled  with  ink,  after  which  all  superfluous  ink  is  wiped 
from  the  surface  of  the  plate.  It  is  the  lines  which  print  black,  while  all 
those  parts  of  the  real  or  original  surface  of  the  plate  which  come  into 
contact  with  the  paper  leave  clean,  uninked  s])aces.  To  i)ut  it  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  and  this  is  a  most  important  technical  distinction,  one  on  which 
depends  the  whole  difference  between  wood  and  metal  engraving,  wood 
engraving  is  relief  engraving,  whereas  metal  engraving  is  incised  engrav- 
ing; woodcuts  are  printed  from  the  surface,  whereas  metal  engravings  are 
printed  from  the  incisions. 

The  favorite  wood  for  the  engraver's  jjurpose  was  pear  tree,  but  dur- 
ing the  eighteenth  century  the  use  of  boxwood  became  common,  the 
essential  quality  being  a  close,  fine  grain.  A  plank  was  often  used;  i.e., 
the  design  was  cut  with,  rather  than  across,  the  grain,  as  in  later  times 
became  almost  universal.  It  is  obvious  that  a  design  cut  with  the  grain 
cannot  contain  lines  of  such  fine  character  as  those  in  a  design  cut  across 
the  grain.  Moreover,  it  is  plain  that  the  design  cut  with  the  grain  cannot 
stand  as  much  force,  or  weight  in  the  printing  press,  as  that  cut  across  the 
grain.  In  the  earliest  examples  of  the  art  the  printing  was  done  by  hand, 
the  inked  block  being  used  much  as  we  use  a  stamp,  by  rubbing,  whereas 

[  ^^  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

nielli,  and  metal  engravings  generally,  were  printed  with  a  roller  pressed 
down  upon  the  paper.  Rubbing,  however,  was  not  uncommon  in  print- 
ing the  early  Florentine  engravings.  It  is  the  difference  in  these  processes, 
and  the  greater  simpHcity  of  the  former,  which  accounts  in  part  for  the 
fact  that,  as  a  rule,  very  early  wood  engravings  are  more  clearly  and 
blackly  ])rinted  than  very  early  metal  engravings.  Such  primitive  processes, 
and  the  faults  attendant  upon  them,  were  soon  done  away  with  by  the 
development  of  specially  constructed  printing  presses.  The  differences  in 
pressure  exerted  by  these  presses,  comparatively  light  when  printing  from 
a  wood  block  and  very  heavy  when  printing  from  the  incised  line  of  the 
metal  plate,  gave  rise  to  the  plate  mark ;  that  sinking  in  the  paper  round 
about  the  printed  design  in  the  case  of  a  metal  engraving.  The  plate 
mark '  is  the  actual  mark  of  the  metal  plate  caused  by  the  great  weight 
placed  on  the  paper,  sufficient  to  force  it  down  upon  the  incised  lines  of 
the  metal  plate  and  so  draw  out  all  the  ink  in  them,  such  a  pressure  as 
might  crush  the  raised  design  on  a  wood  block. 

The  wood  engraver,  when  he  had  found  a  block  of  the  right  size  and 
quality,  ])roceeded  to  place  his  design  upon  it,  either  drawing  it  directly 
upon  the  block  with  pen  or  pencil,  or  tracing  it,  and  thus  getting  it  upon 
the  block  in  reverse  position,  or,  in  some  instances,  securely  gluing  the 
design,  drawn  first  upon  thin  paper,  directly  to  the  surface  of  the  block. 
He  then  cut  away  all  those  parts  of  the  surface  of  his  block  not  actually 
covered  by  the  lines  of  his  design,  so  that  the  finished  block  should  have 
the  design  left  standing  in  relief.  A  serious  difficulty  which  beset  the 
wood  engraver  was  the  cutting,  or  clearing  out,  of  the  numberless  little 
rectangular  spaces  produced  by  the  crossing  of  one  line  with  another, 
crosshatchings,  necessary  of  course  where  complex  effects  of  light  and 
shade  are  required.  It  will  be  seen  that  what  the  metal  engraver  could 
do  with  a  single  push  of  his  burin,  and  the  draughtsman  with  a  single 
stroke  of  his  pen  or  pencil,  became  a  matter  of  infinite  painstaking  and 
care  on  the  part  of  the  wood  engraver, — the  cutting  out  of  each  lozenge- 
shaped  bit  of  wood  in  order  to  leave,  in  relief,  a  lattice-like  arrangement 

'That  metal  engravings,  and  particularly  very  old  ones,  often  show  no  plate  mark  is  not  to  be  taken 
as  proof  that  there  never  was  one.  As  prints  pass  from  one  generation  of  owners  to  another  small  tears 
are  apt  to  occur.  In  order  to  prevent  their  going  in  further,  a  sufficient  amount  of  the  margin  of  the 
print  will  be  trimmed  off.  As  time  goes  on,  and  wear  increases,  and  this  process  of  trimming  is  repeated, 
the  print  is  likely  to  be  cut  down  to  the  actual  subject,  and  appear,  as  so  many  of  the  early  Italian,  Ger- 
man, and  Flemish  prints  do  appear,  entirely  without  plate  mark  or  margin  of  any  sort.  There  are 
Diirer  prints  extant  which  have  wide  margins  and  plate  marks. 

[  T4  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

of  lines  which  should,  in  printing,  give  crossed  lines.  For  this  reason  we 
shall  find,  what  we  might  expect,  little  shade  in  early  woodcuts,  in  other 
words,  crosshatching ;  though  when  it  was  necessary  the  woodcutters  of 
Germany  and  Flanders  exhibited  remarkable  skill  in  producing  it.  In  the 
majority  of  instances,  the  shadows,  shades,  and  backgrounds,  even  in  the 
wood  engravings  of  Holbein  and  Diirer  (Fig.  32),  are  produced  by  a  series 
of  parallel  lines,  parallel  hatchings,  broad  and  near  together  when  much 
darkness  is  needed ;  thin  and  far  apart  when  little  is  required.  Asa  mat- 
ter of  fact,  the  shadows,  shades,  and  backgrounds  of  the  woodcuts  of  the 
time  of  Holbein  and  Diirer  are  made  up  of  lines  arranged  in  a  manner 
resembling  that  of  the  greater  number  of  early  line  engravers  upon  metal, 
these  latter,  especially  the  Italians,  appearing,  as  a  rule,  either  to  have 


JF^SPISi^^^l? 

^^M^m 

^^^W 

^^S 

j^^j 

^^Pi 

If^m. 

Fig.  19.      St.  John,  Crible.      Anon.  German  engraver  (l  5th  century). 

preferred  the  simple  uncrossed  lines,  or  to  have  been  partially  unconscious 
of  the  fact  that  their  material,  metal,  and  tool,  burin,  would  lend  them- 
selves easily  to  the  most  intricate  crosshatching.  This  is  an  illustration  of 
what  was  said  earlier,  that  the  arts  in  their  infancy  appear  to  be  in  closer 
relationship  to  one  another  than  in  times  of  their  maturity. 

The  theory  and  the  practice  of  wood  engraving,  as  already  described, 
apply,  in  some  measure,  to  such  curious  early  prints  with  dotted  or  speckled 
shading  and  background  as  this  St.  John.  It  is  by  an  anonymous  fifteenth- 
century  engraver.  The  peculiar  method  employed  in  such  prints  is  known 
as  ciible,  which  means  'dotted' ;  literally,  filled  or  covered  with  small  holes. 
It  is  a  form  of  metal  engraving.  A  soft  metal  was  used,  generally  some 
alloy  resembling  pewter.  The  process  was  first  to  cut  the  main  lines  of 
the  design  into  the  plate  and  then,  by  means  of  punches  of  varying  diam- 

[  75  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

eters  and  shapes,  to  punch  out,  or  crowd  back  the  surface  of  the  plate  in 
such  a  way  as  to  leave  the  design  in  rehef.  The  printing  was  the  same  as 
usual  with  wood  blocks,  the  raised  parts  printing  black,  and  the  depressed 
not  printing  at  all,  i.e.,  leaving  white  paper.     This  cut  is  a  work  of  art,' 


Fig.  20.      St.  Christopher.      Anon,  engraver  (l5th  century). 

^  The  idea,  however,  of  such  a  method  is  the  opposite  of  that  underlying  both  metal  and  wood  engrav- 
ing in  that  the  cribU  engraver  thought  of  his  design  as  white,  white  lines  and  white  dots  on  a  black  ground, 
whereas  the  wood  and  metal  engravers  thought  of  their  designs  as  black  lines  on  a  white  ground.  "The 
use  of  the  white  line  is  the  essential  element  in  the  process.  These  prints  should  be  described  as  white 
line  engravings  for  rehef  printing,  and  occupy  an  intermediate  position  between  line-engravings  and  wood 
cuts."  Campbell  Dodgson.  See  "White-line  Engraving  for  Relief-printing  in  the  Fifteenth  and  Six- 
teenth Centuries."     Report  of  National  Museum  for  1890,  pages  385-394.,  Washington,  1892. 

[  ^6  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

like  others  of  its  sort,  curious,  rather  than  beautiful;  interesting  mainly 
because  of  its  early  date,  and  as  illustrating  a  long  disused  method.  In 
no  sense  is  it  a  masterpiece.  This  rude  method  soon  fell  into  disuse. 
Except  in  rare  instances,  such  as  the  ornamental  borders  of  engravings, 
where  a  regular  arrangement  of  repeated  forms  was  desired,  crihU  was  put 
upon  the  list  of  forgotten  arts. 

The  early  woodcut,  known  as  the  St.  Christopher  of  1423,  is  important 
in  the  history  of  w^ood  engraving.^  It  represents  the  giant  saint  carrying 
the  infant  Christ  over  a  stream.  As  he  walks  through  the  waves  he  se- 
cures his  footing  with  a  palm  tree  which  serves  for  a  staff.  On  the  left  is 
a  landscape,  apparently  meant  to  depict  a  slope  at  the  foot  of  which  there 
is  a  mill.  The  mill  wheel  is  turning,  and  in  front  of  the  door  a  man  lean- 
ing upon  an  ass  waits  for  his  meal.  A  second  man  appears  climbing  the 
hill,  and  carrying  a  sack  across  his  shoulders.  The  other  side  shows  a 
monastery,  with  its  prayer  bell,  and  before  the  building  a  monk  who  kneels 
and  holds  up  a  lantern  which  is  intended,  mystically  and  figuratively  speak- 
ing, to  light  St.  Christopher's  steps.  Christ  is  shown  in  the  act  of  bless- 
ing, while  he  grasps  a  sceptre  in  his  other  hand.  The  saint  holds  his  head 
as  if  listening  attentively.  The  story  is  all  told,  and  clearly  told,  but  in 
a  crude  manner.  The  drawing  is  archaic.  The  perspective  of  the  hill  is 
absurd.  So  also  is  that  of  the  water  wheel,  yet  the  sluice  out  of  which 
the  water  pours  is  correctly  drawn.  The  figures  are  not  bad,  especially 
that  of  the  kneeling  monk,  who  holds  his  lantern  in  a  very  natural  way. 
The  drawing  of  St.  Christopher's  hands  as  they  grasp  the  stem  of  the  tree 
is  good ;  so  also  are  his  draperies.  But  the  water  is  represented  in  the  most 
primitive  manner,  that  of  early  Egyptian  painting ;  the  fish  likewise,  not 
in  the  water,  scarcely  on  it,  and  yet  not  really  in  the  air;  at  all  events  not 
in  the  least  in  the  position  of  swimming.  So  likewise  the  rabbit  poking 
his  head  out  of  the  ground, — animal  and  opening  are  drawn  at  a  different 
angle  from  the  ground,  while  the  plants  are  silhouetted,  and  look  as  if  they 
were  pasted  vertically  upon  the  surface  of  the  print,  attributes,  all,  of  early 
Egyptian,  maplike  landscapes ;  and  all  childish  work  as  compared  with  the 
folds  of  St.  Christopher's  sleeve.  The  trees,  especially  the  tree  at  the  top 
of  the  hill  above  the  mill,  are  drawn  as  Giotto  drew  trees,  and  as  they  are 
to  be  seen  in  Gothic  missals,  each  leaf  distinctly  outlined  and  laid  on  flat 

^  For  a  discussion  of  the  date  of  this  interesting  woodcut  see  "Catalogue  of  German  and  Flemish 
Woodcuts,"  Campbell  Dodgson,  British  Museum,  Vol.  I,  page  T,  note. 

[  77  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing"  and  Engraving 

as  if  cut  from  paper.  Such  drawing,  earlier  than  the  time  of  the  Van 
Eycks,  though  not  necessarily  much  earlier,  has  led  some  to  regard  the 
St.  Christopher  as  the  work  of  an  inferior  artist.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
dignity  of  the  central  group,  which  cannot  be  denied  and  which  makes 
that  part  of  the  engrav  ing  so  superior  to  the  rest,  has  led  others  to  believe 
the  work  to  have  been  executed  by  two  different  men.  Technically  the 
cutting  of  the  lines  is  sure,  as  well  as  graceful.  Notice  the  accurate  de- 
lineation of  the  palm  leaves  and  the  ripples  of  the  water,  and  particularly, 
the  lines  which  form  the  hair  and  beard  of  the  saint.  They  would  not  be 
discreditable  to  Diirer. 

The  Japanese  art  of  printing  in  colors  from  wood  blocks  is  said  to  have 
originated  some  two  hundred  years  ago.  These  things  are  often  distinguished 
by  delicacy  and  grace  of  line.  As  the  art  progressed  its  high-water  mark 
was  reached  by  Kunisada,  in  the  early  years  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
These  Japanese  actors  (Fig.  21)  are  a  characteristic  work  of  Kunisada. 
In  many  respects  this  print  resembles  the  St.  Christopher  of  1423,  although 
it  is  far  finer  as  a  drawing,  because  it  is  a  more  graceful  and  homogene- 
ous piece  of  design.  Note  with  care  the  technical  excellence  of  the  lines, 
especially  those  of  the  nose,  ear,  and  fingers  of  the  actor  standing,  and 
those  of  the  arm,  cheek,  and  nose  of  the  other.  For  exquisite  precision 
and  decision  they  are  paramount  to  any  wood  lines  ever  cut. 

Before  passing  to  another  branch  of  the  subject  we  must  notice  the 
double  lines  of  text  with  the  date  1423,  at  the  bottom  of  the  St.  Christopher 
print  (Fig.  20).  Emphasis  is  to  be  put  upon  the  fact  that  it  would  have 
been  a  simple  and  an  easy  matter  to  have  left  the  picture  out  and  covered 
the  entire  block  with  text,  and  so  to  have  printed  it.  He  who  had  done 
this  would  have  produced  a  printed  page.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  first 
printed  pages  were  of  this  sort,  and  when,  for  the  first  time,  a  number  of 
such  pages  were  bound  together  the  first  printed  book  came  into  existence. 
These  were  what  are  known  as  block-books,  i.e.,  books  printed  from  en- 
graved wood  blocks.  There  is  little  evidence  to  indicate  that  any  of  these 
block-books  were  produced  before  1450,  and  there  is  much  evidence  to 
prove  that  they  were  of  German  origin.  The  finest  of  them  were,  how- 
ever, made  and  printed  in  Flanders  immediately  subsequent  to  1460.  It  is 
not  possible  to  say  just  when  the  Dutch  and  German  wood  engravers  be- 
gan to  add  a  line,  or  lines,  of  text  to  explain  their  pictures,  but  whenever 
that  did  happen  a  move  was  made  toward  the  invention  of  printing,  as  we 

[  78  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

understand  it,  for  this  fixed  line  of  lettered  text  is  generally  acknowledged 
to  have  led  to  printing  with  movable  characters,  the  earliest  attempts  at 
which  are  usually  attributed  to  the  year  1440  or  immediately  thereabouts. 
The  St.  Christopher  woodcut  has  been  examined  to  find  out  wherein,  as  a 


Fig.  21.      Actors.      Kunisada. 

draxmng,  it  is  good  and  where  inferior.  The  illustrations  of  the  earliest 
block-books  are  decidedly  superior  to  it.  In  the  block-books  then,  we  be- 
hold not  only  the  prototype  of  the  printed  page  but  also  a  decided  im- 
provement in  the  art  of  wood  engraving.  By  binding  these  woodcuts  into 
volumes  they  became  less  subject  to  being  lost,  or  destroyed,  and,  as  a 

[  7i)  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

consequence,  many  of  them  have  been  preserved,  whereas  of  the  single 
sheet  prints  Hke  the  St.  Christopher  there  are  not  many  left. 

Among  the  many  block-books  the  four  most  important  are  "BibHa 
Pauperum"  (Poor  Man's  Bible),  "Canticum  Canticorum"  (Song  of 
Songs),  "Ars  Moriendi"  (Art  of  Dying),  and  the  "Speculum  Humanfc 
Salvationis"  (Mirror  of  Human  Salvation).  These  are  all  of  Flemish 
origin  and  can  be  dated  between  1460  and  1470.  There  are  block-books 
of  German  origin  which  date  back  a  decade  earlier,  and  in  some  of  them 
the  text  was  done  by  hand,  i.e.,  written,  and  not  engraved.  The  pic- 
tures in  these  are  prints  but  the  text  is  done  in  the  old  way  of  manuscripts. 
These  German  block-books  are  crude  as  compared  with  those  named  above, 
the  four  of  Flemish  origin,  but  their  existence  may  be  taken  in  a  measure 
to  prove  the  contentions  of  those  who  claim  that  block-books  with  wood- 
cut text  are  of  later  date  than  the  invention  of  printing. 

The  "Biblia"  is  made  up  of  leaves  of  small  folio  size.  Each  leaf  is  or- 
namented with  woodcuts  occupying  about  half  of  the  space  across  the  cen- 
ter of  the  page.  The  central  one  is  a  scene  from  the  New  Testament  and 
is  flanked  by  scenes  from  the  Old  Testament.  Thus  Christ's  Temptation 
is  shown  in  the  middle,  with  Esau  selling  his  birthright  at  one  side,  and 
Adam,  Eve,  and  the  Serpent  at  the  other.  Above  and  below  the  central 
compartment  there  are  pictures  of  prophets,  two  in  each  case,  while  the 
lower  corners  of  the  page  are  filled  with  Latin  texts  from  the  Vulgate. 
No  effort  need  be  made  to  distinguish  the  editions  of  this  famous  book. 
It  is  impossible.  The  text  and  pictures  are  printed  on  one  side  of  the 
paper  only.  Frequently  the  sheets  are  glued  together  so  that  the  leaves 
have  the  appearance  of  ordinary  pages. 

The  "Canticum"  is  a  small  folio  volume  with  woodcuts  on  each  leaf, 
printed  on  one  side  only.  Its  subjects  are  taken  from  the  "Book  of  Canti- 
cles, or  Song  of  Solomon."  The  leaves  are  pasted  together  like  those  of 
the  "Biblia. "  Each  print  has  a  scroll,  or  scrolls,  with  texts  in  large  letters, 
interspersed  among  the  designs.  In  each  cut,  the  Virgin  appears  as  the 
principal  character,  and  in  none  are  the  figures  more  clearly  distinguished 
from  the  scrolls  than  in  the  page  chosen  for  illustration  (Fig.  22).  In  spite 
of  the  extreme  simplicity  of  this  cut,  and  the  short,  horizontal,  parallel 
lines  which  are  its  only  apology  for  shade  and  shadow,  there  is  a  certain 
rhythm  in  the  figures,  and  something  that  is  attractive  in  the  highly 
Gothic  drawing  of  the  characters.      However  rude,  even  ridiculous,  the 

[  80  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

faces  may  be  thought,  no  one  will  deny  that  there  is  grace  and  dignity 
in  the  poise  and  pose  of  bodies  and  heads. 

The  "Speculum"  is  a  book  very  famous  in  the  much  vexed  history  of 
typography.  In  the  sense  in  which  the  "Biblia"  is  a  block-book,  i.e.,  a 
book  printed  entirely,  text  and  illustrations,  from  wood  blocks,  it  is  im- 
possible to  call  the  "Speculum''  a  true  block- book,  because  the  text  of  some 
copies  is,  for  a  considerable  part,  printed  with  movable  type,  and,  in  others, 
entirely  so.  It  is  a  work  of  more  im])ortance  in  the  history  of  typography 
thanof  engra\'ing,  its  woodcuts  resembling  those  of  the  "Canticum"  and  the 


Fi}i.  22.      Block  Book.      Canticum  Canticorum. 


"Biblia. ''  The  crude  nature  of  this  special  phase  of  the  art  of  engraving, 
both  as  to  drawing  and  cutting,  is  well  illustrated  by  the  famous  "Ars  Mo- 
riendi,"  a  book  much  used  by  priests  when  visiting  the  sick  and  dying.  It 
is  thoroughly  German  Gothic  in  conception,  but  lifted  above  the  gro- 
tesque, and  thereby  it  acquires  true  dignity.  For  example,  the  head  of 
God  the  Father  in  the  Trinity  group  (Fig.  23)  has  real  beauty  and  so  the 
wings  of  the  angels,  one  of  whom  points  upwards  to  heaven,  one  down- 
ward to  hell,  while  the  third  prays. 

After  the  invention  of  typography,  the    wood  engravers  of   Italy, 
many  of  whom  lived  and  worked  in  \^enetian  territory,  turned  their  at- 

[  «1  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

teiition  to  the  art  of  woodcutting  with  zeal,  in  order  to  make  suitable 
ilhistrations  for  the  numerous  books  printed  at  Venice  during  the  latter 
years  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Before  this  time  woodcuts,  such  as  the 
St.   Christopher  of  1423,  often  carelessly  colored  with  red,  yellow,  and 


^  *  .••i,  **— — ^    VV- 


Fig.  2S.      Block  Book.      Ars  Moriendi. 

green,  and  made  in  Germany,  or  those  either  made  at  home  or  imported 
into  Italy,  were  intended  for  distribution  among  the  common  people. 
The  purpose  of  them  was  didactic  or  commemorative ;  to  teach  biblical 
history  or  to  memorialize  saints  and  miracles,  somewhat  after  the  fashion 
of  Sunday  school  picture  cards  at  present.      Hence  they  had  to   be  inex- 

[  82  ] 


Line  Engraving'  and  Wood  in  the  North 

pensive  and  numerous,  and  so,  naturally,  their  manufacture  fell  to  the 
poorer  artists  and  the  inferior  craftsmen.  When,  however,  the  same  art 
was  employed  in  Venice,  or  in  the  North,  as  the  block- books  testify,  better 
workmanship  and  finer  design  were  demanded,  in  order  that  the  cuts  might 
be  in  keeping  with  the  dignity  and  value  of  the  printed  book.  In  Venice 
this  art  at  once  displayed  vigor  and  before  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century 
an  unknown  designer  had  made  the  delicate  and  elaborate  woodcuts  for 
the  celebrated  and  curious  "Dream  of  Poliphilo,"  the  book  of  a  priest, — 
a  rhapsody  typical  of  the  early  Renaissance  in  the  way  in  which  pagan 
thought  is  mingled  with  Christian,  and  art  and  archeology  are  jumbled 
together  with  love,  romance,  and  philosophy. 

We  must  now  give  our  attention  to  the  art  of  metal  engraving,  which, 
remember,  was  and  is,  incised  engraving;  what  is  usually  called  line  en- 
graving. It  was  very  early  practiced  north  of  the  Alps,  as  wood  engrav- 
ing was  south.  One  of  the  earliest  German  metal  engravers  of  whose 
works  much  is  known  is  the  so-called  master  E.S.,  recognized  by  his  ini- 
tials, which  appear  on  his  plates,  sometimes  with  the  date  1466.  His 
works  are  numerous  and  in  some  respects  resemble  those  of  Israhel  van 
Meckenem.  His  drawing  is  often  incorrect  and  his  perspective  bad,  but 
his  engravings  are  especially  valuable  "as  being  probably  the  first  German 
production  in  which  feeling  and  emotion  are  successfully  expressed." 
Their  technique  is  very  delicate  and  less  dry  and  thin  than  that  of  some 
of  the  earliest  Italian  engravings.  His  shade  and  shadow  hatching  is  sys- 
tematic and  foretells  that  of  Diirer.  In  his  draperies  and  in  the  naked 
parts  of  his  figures  he  made  use  of  dots  and  short  lines  by  means  of  which 
he  achieved  better  modeling  than  had  hitherto  been  attained.  When,  in 
hatching,  the  lines  are  crossed,  it  is  never  at,  or  near,  right  angles  as  is 
frequently  the  case  in  early  Italian  prints.  He  is  a  master  of  the  Gothic 
character  of  fifteenth-century  German  art  at  its  best;  of  attenuated  bodies 
and  more  attenuated  members,  fingers,  for  example ;  of  Gothic  forms  of 
architecture;  of  angular  draperies,  and  of  most  lovely,  yet  most  unnatural 
leaves  and  flowers,  put  together  in  fascinating  and  almost  meaningless 
confusion ;  finally,  a  great  designer  of  crowns  and  coronets  and  croziers  and 
other  goldsmith's  details  wherever  he  can  find  places  for  them  in  his  sub- 
jects. In  the  print  of  the  "Virgin  and  Child  with  St.  Margaret  and  St. 
Catherine  in  a  Garden"  (Fig.  24),  all  these  attributes  are  clearly  displayed. 
No  less  true  is  this  of  the  master's  mastery  of  design  so  far  as  parts  are  con- 

[  83  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

cerned,  or  his  failure  when  it  comes  to  the  whole.  The  wonder  of  it  is, 
so  much  awkwardness  and  so  much  beauty.  His  work  has  the  unfailing 
grotesque  touch  which  was  so  dear  to  the  Gothic  artists  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  There  is  humor,  too,  which  was  another  of  the  natural  loves  of 
the  time,  and,  above  all,  a  homely  directness  which  compels  affectionate 
regard   even   yet.      Note  the   little  dog  dragging   at   Christ's  shift  and 


Fig.  24.      Virgin  and  Child  with  Saints.      Master  E.  S. 

barking  with  all  his  might.  Then  turn  to  the  wings  and  the  harp  of  the 
left-hand  angel,  three  very  similar  triangular  shapes,  their  every  line  and 
mark  a  miracle  of  lovely  and  ordered  thinking  set  there  these  four  cen- 
turies and  more,  for  man's  delight.  Look  too  how  these  same  triangular 
shapes  frame  the  angel ;  and  then,  what  a  funny  angel  he  is !  But  first  and 
last  the  master  E.S.  was  Gothic,  and  a  master  of  Gothic  design,  which 
always  meant  a  real  human  being. 

[  84  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

The  earliest  German  metal  engraver  of  distinct  importance  as  an  artist 
was  Martin  Schongauer,  known  in  Germany  as  Martin  Schon  and  in  P>ance 
as  le  beau  Martin,  because  of  the  expressions  of  feeling  or  emotion  which 
he  put  into  the  faces  and  attitudes  of  his  subjects;  for  example,  the  careful 
and  loving  way  of  placing  the  divine  Child  in  his  mother's  arms,  and  her 
manner  of  regarding  him,  making  the  engravings  of  Schongauer  quite  un- 
like all  the  woodcuts  and  metal  prints  of  earlier  date.  The  fact  is  that 
this  beautiful  Martin  was  a  true  artist-draughtsman  as  well  as  an  exceed- 
ingly able  manipulator  of  the  burin.  For  this  reason  every  print  of  his 
is  a  work  of  fine  drawing,  i.e.,  drawing  which  tells  truth  of  physical  facts 
and,  in  the  telling,  casts  over  them  the  noble  illumination  of  an  under- 
standing heart.  He  was  the  contemporary  of  Perugino,  Raphael's  master, 
and  it  is  said  that  the  two  held  each  other  in  high  regard  and  were  in 
the  habit  of  exchanging  drawings  and  engravings.  A  few  years  later  their 
two  great  disciples,  Raphael  and  Diirer,  did  the  same.  Schongauer  was 
early  taught  the  goldsmith's  trade  and  later  that  of  a  painter.  He  appears 
not  to  have  taken  up  the  art  of  engraving,  for  printing  purposes,  until  late 
in  life.  Bartsch  concludes  that  he  derived  his  skill  with  the  burin  in  cut- 
ting designs  upon  plate,  years  before  he  began  to  engrave  upon  copper. 
He  was,  however,  the  first  true  painter-graver  of  the  North.  Almost  every 
print  of  his  is  marked  M.  and  S.  His  well-known  "Madonna"  (Fig.  25) 
is  a  graceful  composition,  and  is,  in  some  degree,  expressive  of  emotion. 
The  pose  is  easy  and  the  draperies  are  well  cast,  yet  it  is  attractive  rather 
than  beautiful.  The  drawing  of  the  hands,  the  modeling  of  the  features 
of  the  Virgin's  face,  and  the  light  and  shade,  obtained  by  most  careful 
hatching,  and  curving  of  lines,  as  well  as  by  varied  spacing,  dots,  and  short 
lines,  are  all  technically  as  admirable  as  they  are  in  advance  of  any  Italian 
work  of  the  same  period,  yet  the  completed  subject  lacks  abstract  beauty, 
while  the  painstaking  likeness  of  every  part  clearly  marks  this  print  as  of 
early  German  origin  in  contradistinction  to  Italian.  Placing  it  by  the  '  'As- 
sumption" called  Finiguerra's  (Fig.  11),  these  respective  attributes  speak" 
for  themselves.  One  is  full  of  the  homely  northern  grandeur  of  Gothicism ; 
the  other  of  abstract  beauty,  graceful  balance  and  counterbalance  of  mass 
and  line;  of  the  ideals  of  classicism  as  yet,  in  1452,  unconsciously  dreamed 
of,  not  fully  awakened,  in  reviving  Italy.  But  this  "Madonna"  is  an  early 
work  of  Schongauer's  and  vastly  inferior  to  some  of  his  later  works,  such  as 
his  "Christ  Appearing  to  Mary  Magdalene"  (Fig.  2G),  exquisite  in  sentiment 

[  85  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

and  technique,  and  superior,  beyond  expression,  to  anything  that  the 
school  of  Finiguerra  ever  accomphshed ;  a  work,  however,  that  plainly  shows 
Italian  influence.  The  landscape  background,  though  slight,  is  full  of 
beauty,  and  never  in  any  print,  not  even  in  Rembrandt's  "Gold- weigher's 


Fig.  25.      Madonna.      Martin  Schongauer. 

Field"  (Fig.  7),  have  the  receding  planes  of  distance,  and  the  details  by 
which  they  are  shown,  been  more  ably  managed. 

The  difference  between  Schongauer  and  Finiguerra  is  the  difference 
between  a  Gothic  figure  from  the  Cathedral  of  Chartres,  and  a  Greek 
figure  of  the  golden  age  of  Athens.     Call  to  mind  the  home-loving,  sym- 

[  86  ] 


Line  Engraving  and  Wood  in  the  North 

pathetic  women  of  a  medieval,  northern  "Visitation"  ;  Mary  and  Ehsabeth, 
beside  the  door  of  the  Cathedral  of  Chartres,  likenesses  to  the  very  life;  to 
the  outward  facts  of  ap])earance,  and  to  the  inner  fact  of  their  joy  in 
meeting,  and  hearing,  and  telling  each  other  the  good  news,  particular 
and  universal  qualities,  as  in  all  great  art  everywhere  and  always.  Com- 
pare these  with  any  typical  piece  of  classical  work,  the  Venus  of  Melos, 


Fig.  26.      Christ  Appearing  to  Mary  Magdalene.      Martin  Sehongauer. 

for  example,  and  we  cannot  fail  to  see,  though  we  may  not  have  under- 
stood what  has  been  said  about  attributes  of  abstract  or  general  beauty, 
that  here  we  have  the  finest  instances  of  fact  chosen  from  among  many  in- 
stances, and  these,  in  a  measure,  idealized  and  made  the  very  abstraction 
of  beauty ;  then  placed,  as  in  this  marble,  within  the  limits  of  a  finite  and 
human  expression.  On  the  one  hand  the  work  of  men  who  were  the  in- 
heritors alike  of  classical  traditions  and  classical  works  of  art ;  on  the  other 

[  87  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 


Fig.  27.      Fanciful  Composition.      Israhel  van  Meckenem. 


hand,  the  work  of  men  who  inherited  neither  works  nor  traditions,  but 
were  saved  to  certain  greatness,  as  all  men  are  who  in  simple,  deep  sin- 
cerity take  nature  as  their  guide  and  follow  her  with  oi)en-eyed  humility. 
One  other  engraver  remains  to  be  spoken  of  in  this  chapter,  Israhel 
van  Meckenem.  He  died  in  1503  at  Bocholt.  He  is  remarkable  for 
enormous  output  rather  than  invention  or  technique.  He  did,  however, 
as  a  designer  of  scroll  ornaments  and  grotesque  subjects,  produce  unique 
things.  More  charming  and  varied  arabesque  patterns,  including  the  fig- 
ures of  men  and  animals  intricately  woven  together  with  leaves  and  flowers, 
have  never  been  cut  by  an  engraver.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find,  either  in 
ancient  or  modern  art,  a  more  refined  and  delightfully  humorous  composi- 
tion than  the  roasting  of  a  hunter  and  the  boiling  of  his  dogs  by  a  company 
of  hares  (Fig.  27).  You  will  not  find  much  humor  in  Schongauer;  do 
not  mistake  the  unintentional  caricature  of  some  of  his  work  for  humor; 
much  less  will  j^ou  find  it  in  Finiguerra,  or  in  the  engravings  of  the  liotti- 
celli-Baldini  group.  But  this  print  contains  a  fine  expression  of  the  hu- 
morous which  is  always  so  close  to  the  human  and  so  intimately  related 
to  the  homely  character  of  the  northerners.  In  the  main,  this  thing  is  un- 
imaginative, thoroughly  concrete.  It  is  Dutch,  or  German,  in  being  op- 
posed to  the  highly  imaginative,  nobly  wrought  abstract  beauty  which  is 
foretold  by  early  Italian  art,  and,  in  late,  developed  to  a  perfection  never 
attained  by  any  other  race  save  the  Greek.  The  actual  burin  work,  tlie 
engraving  of  the  plate,  is  thoroughly  good,  and  in  the  manner  of  Schon- 
gauer, although  Israhel  has  succeeded  in  differentiating  the  smooth  and 
shiny  surface  of  the  hunter's  leather  jacket  and  the  sleek  flanks  of  the 

[  88  ] 


Line  Engraving'  and  Wood  in  the  North 

dog  in  the  pot  just  behind  the  hunter's  head,  from  the  furry  coats  of  their 
tormenters,  the  hares.  This  is  accomphshed  by  using  continuous  Hues  in 
the  former,  and  broken  or  dotted  in  the  latter  case.  It  offers  an  exam- 
ple of  the  attempt  to  differentiate  textures  in  engraving,  i.e.,  to  give  fur 


.^fr^feTV  ;a  _ _     , 

Fig.  28.      Death  and  Burial  of  the  Virgin.      Israhel  van  Meckenem. 

its  rough  look,  and  the  smooth  appearance  to  leather.  Could  anything  of 
its  kind  be  more  amusing  than  the  tail  of  the  dog  in  the  second  pot,  or 
the  expression  of  the  dog  in  the  third  pot?  The  cook  is  putting  in  a  pinch 
of  salt,  as  he  watches  his  master  writhing  in  agony  on  the  spit,  while  the 
water  for  his  own  stew  grows  warmer.     Above  all,  how  ridiculous  is  the 

[  89  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

expression  of  important  concern  depicted  on  the  faces  of  the  hares,  those 
that  turn  the  spit,  and  those  more  important  yet,  that  tend  the  broth. 
Neither  Life  nor  Punch  dechnes  such  drawing.  Which  of  them  can  boast 
work  more  technically  excellent?  It  is  not  maintained  that  this  is  great 
art,  but  it  is  maintained  to  be  an  example  of  the  best  sort  of  a  very  worthy 
art,  and  one  practiced  in  a  far  inferior  manner  too  frequently  at  the  present 
time,  both  as  to  the  thought  expressed  and  the  manner  of  expression; 
subject  and  technique. 

It  would,  however,  be  very  unfair  to  leave  the  impression  that  Israhel 
van  Meckenem  did  not  produce  large  and  important  works.  One  such, '  'The 
Death  and  Burial  of  the  Virgin"  (Fig.  28),  shows  this  engraver  at  his  best, 
both  as  a  master  of  technical  attainments  of  high  order,  and  as  an  artist- 
draughtsman  of  distinctly  dramatic  powers.  And  yet  the  solemnity  of 
the  deathbed  scene  is  touched  with  that  comic  character  which  always 
shows  in  the  faces  and  mien  of  those  who,  upon  any  occasion,  are  con- 
sciously trying  to  look  the  proper  part  rather  than  unconsciously  just  look- 
ing it.  The  German  Gothic,  until  we  come  to  Diirer,  is  almost  invariably 
so  touched.  In  this  respect  it  differs  fundamentally  from  the  French. 
The  comic  touch  on  the  part  of  the  actors  in  the  burial  procession  is  cer- 
tainly not  to  be  gainsaid.  Israhel  van  Meckenem  as  a  workman  was  skill- 
ful and  as  a  draughtsman  he  was  proficient,  but  in  the  sense  in  which 
Martin  Schongauer  was  an  artist  and  in  the  sense  in  which  we  shall  see 
that  Albert  Diirer  was  a  supreme  artist,  he  was  distinctly  lacking. 


[  90  ] 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MANTEGNA,     MARCANTONIO,    LUCAS    OF 
LEYDEN,   DiJRER  AND  HOLBEIN 

V  V  E  now  come  to  a  small  group  of  great  engravers ;  two  Italians,  two 
Germans,  and  a  Dutchman.  Only  one  of  them  exceeded  three  score 
years  and  ten,  and,  with  the  same  exception,  all  of  them  were  at  their 
best  during  those  marvelous  decades  which  closed  the  fifteenth  century 
and  opened  the  sixteenth,  what  time  discovery,  in  the  person  of  Colum- 
bus, doubled  the  world's  area,  and  freedom  of  thought,  in  the  person  of 
Luther,  set  on  foot  the  Reformation.  Those  forty  years,  1480-1520, 
marked  the  full  tide  of  the  Renaissance;  an  age  in  which  reviv^ed  classi- 
cism almost  completely  usurped  the  place  of  medievalism ;  a  time  when  the 
rank  and  file  of  men,  high  and  low,  whether  occupied  with  political 
affairs  or  affairs  ecclesiastical,  were  worldly  to  an  extreme  degree.  It 
was  an  age  in  which  many  slow  growths  which  mark  the  progress  of  civil- 
ization came  to  full  bloom ;  such,  for  example,  as  architecture,  personified 
by  Bramante;  painting,  by  Raphael;  sculpture,  by  Michelangelo;  and 
many  other  arts,  among  which  engraving  takes  a  foremost  place;  an 
age  which  more  than  any  other  produced  the  greatest  of  artist-draughts- 
men. The  Renaissance  was  a  period  of  extraordinary  intellectual  activity 
which  found  expression  in  science  and  art ;  an  epoch  in  which  mankind 
had  wonderfully  beautiful  thoughts  about  this  world  with  its  joyous  life, 
and  hands  carefully  trained  from  generation  to  generation  for  putting  such 
thoughts  into  tangible  forms.  Hence  it  came  about  that  the  Renaissance 
was  an  epoch  of  great  art ;  the  root  of  which  is  good  drawing,  and  one  of 
the  perfect  flowers  of  which  is  great  drawing  done  for  its  own  sake,  i.e., 
regarded  as  worth  doing  for  its  own  sake  by  the  greatest  geniuses,  and 
looked  upon  as  precious  beyond  compare  by  the  best  judges. 

[  91  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

For  centuries  the  larger  part  of  the  civilized  world  had  been  mainly 
occupied  with  ideas  that  were  the  direct  outgrowth  of  Christian  theology, 
such  as  death,  judgment,  and  man's  final  and  eternal  state.  The  art  of 
that  long  period,  as  the  monuments  attest,  reflects  these  ideas.  Then 
came  the  Renaissance,  a  gradual  and  partial  return  to  the  intellectual  con- 
ceptions of  the  (ireeks  and  Romans,  whose  fundamentally  lovely  notions 
about  the  beauty  of  this  world,  and  the  joy  of  living,  found  such  adequate 
expression  in  all  branches  of  classic  art,  but  in  which  there  was  compara- 
tively little  indication  of  thought  concerning  anything  after  death.  As 
time  went  on,  the  corruption  of  Catholic  Christianity,  and  the  revival  of 
paganism,  both  of  which  marked  the  Renaissance,  led  to  that  reaction 
which  is  known  as  the  Protestant  Reformation.  Naturally  we  should  ex- 
pect to  find,  just  what  we  do  find,  a  constant  and  direct  expression  of  the 
thought  and  tendency  of  the  age  in  its  plastic  and  graphic  arts.  In  se- 
lecting the  five  engravers  we  should  have  been  forced,  even  had  we  wished 
otherwise,  to  include :  first,  Andrea  Mantegna,  whose  works  indicate  the 
return  of  the  classic  spirit,  yet  young  in  the  world  in  the  year  1450,  min- 
gling itself  with  dominant  Christianity;  second,  Marcantonio  Raimondi, 
the  friend  and  contemporary  of  Raphael,  who,  like  Mantegna,  so  far  as  he 
had  a  religious  belief  had  that  of  the  then  oflScially  unquestioned  creed  of 
the  Vatican;  third,  Albert  Dtirer,  a  few  lines  from  whose  diary  under 
date  of  "Friday  before  Pentecost,  15*21,"  and  written  on  hearing  a  false 
report  of  Luther's  death,  are  sufficient  to  show  his  attitude:  "  If  Luther 
is  dead  who  will  explain  to  us  the  evangel  with  the  same  clearness? 
How  much  might  he  not  have  written  still  in  ten  or  twenty  years !  All 
you  pious  Christians,  deplore  with  me  the  loss  of  this  man,  and  pray  the 
Lord  that  he  will  send  another  guide.  O,  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  where 
wilt  thou  remain?  Wilt  thou  see  the  injustice  and  blind  tyranny  of  the 
powers  now  ruling?  Hear  me,  knight  of  Christ.  Ride  by  the  side  of 
the  Lord  XS ;  old  as  thou  art,  and  but  a  feeble  creature,  thou  too  mayst 
win  the  martyr's  crown."  Next,  Hans  Holbein,  who  is  known  to  have 
been  in  sympathy  with,  if  not  to  have  taken  an  active  part  in,  the  Ref- 
ormation. Finally,  Lucas  of  Leyden,  who  was  one  of  the  first  great 
artists  of  Holland.  It  is  to  the  masterly  quality  of  these  men's  engrav- 
ings ;  to  their  powers  as  artist-draughtsmen  of  the  first  rank,  and  to  a 
few  of  their  works  considered  as  expressions  of  the  age  in  which  they 
lived,  that  our  attention  must  be  turned. 

[  92  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  hey  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

Recall  the  two  classes  into  one  or  the  other  of  which  all  engravers  fall. 
The  first,  and  more  important,  though  by  far  the  smaller  in  point  of  num- 
bers, is  made  up  of  artists;  of  painters  who  do  their  own  engraving;  men 
who  actually  handle  the  burin,  and  cut  or  engrave  their  own  designs  on  the 
metal  or  the  wood.  This  is  the  painter-graver  class.  From  the  painter- 
gravers  we  get  engravings  which  are  original  works  by  masters ;  their  actual 
drawing  upon  the  metal  or  the  wood.  The  second  class  is  made  up  largely 
of  men  who  are  neither  painters  nor  draughtsmen,  in  the  sense  of  masters, 
but  rather  of  those  who  copy,  by  means  of  engraving,  the  paintings  and 
drawings  of  other  men,  masters  usually,  for  commercial  ends.  They  en- 
grave, we  say,  some  popular  picture.  They  translate  it  into  the  language 
of  black  and  white,  to  speak  figuratively ;  i.e.,  by  means  of  engraving  they 
represent  the  various  tones  or  values  ^  of  the  colored  picture,  as  well  as  its 
forms ;  in  other  words,  the  look  of  the  picture  expressed  by  the  painter  in 
color  is,  by  the  engraver,  rendered  in  terms  of  i)ure  light  and  shade.  This 
is  the  class  of  translator-engravers,  from  w^hom  we  get  the  other  tw'o  va- 
rieties of  engravings;  copied  works  of  masters,  copied  under  the  mas- 
ter's supervision;  copied  w^orks  of  masters,  copied  tvithoiit  the  master's 
supervision.  Obviously  the  work  of  the  painter-graver  will  be  more  valu- 
able than  that  of  the  translator-graver,  yet  it  would  be  a  great  mistake  to 
suppose  that  high  orders  of  talent  among  engravers  have  not  been  given 
to  copying. 

First,  the  engraving  of  a  very  great  artist,  judged  by  any  standards; 
the  work  of  the  first  important  painter-graver,  Andrea  Mantegna.  He 
was  born  at  Padua  in  1431,  and  died  at  Mantua  in  1506.  When  a  very 
young  man  he  was  put  to  study  with  an  artist  by  the  name  of  Squarcione, 
who,  though  a  second-rate  painter,  exerted  a  far-reaching  and  nobly  broad- 
ening influence  upon  Italian  art.  Squarcione  traveled  throughout  Italy, 
some  assert  that  he  even  went  to  Greece,  for  the  express  purpose  of  collect- 
ing objects  of  antique  art  such  as  urns,  cameos,  arms,  vases,  paintings,  and 
sculptures.  These  he  gathered  together  in  Padua,  where  he  created  a 
museum  and  founded  what  was  perhaps  the  first  school  of  art  in  the  mod- 

'  As  the  word  tone  or  value  is  here  used  it  means  the  amount  of  light  and  shade  in  a  picture,  regard- 
less or  irrespective  of  the  color;  as  if  it  were  possible  to  dissolve  away  the  color  of  a  picture  and  leave  the 
shapes,  and  lights,  and  shades,  and  shadows,  in  gray,  and  black,  and  white.  And  this  is  just  what  en- 
graving in  any  of  its  various  forms  does,  and  why  engraving  that  is  done  from  drawings  rather  than  from 
works  of  color,  is  likely  to  be  the  best  engraving,  and  why  pictures  conceived  directly  in  the  terms  of 
engraving,  i.e.,  in  line,  and  shade,  and  light,  and  shadow,  are  likely  to  be  the  finest  engravings. 

[  93  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

ern  sense.  Before  this  such  advantages  were  unknown.  For  us,  to  whom 
museums  filled  with  Greek  and  Roman  marbles,  and  casts  taken  from  the 
best  antique  statues  are  accessible  for  purposes  of  study,  it  is  difficult  to 
picture  the  time  when  artists,  young  and  old,  able  or  inferior,  were  for  the 
most  part  unacquainted  with,  as  well  as  unassisted  and  uninspired  by,  these 
wonderful  things;  a  time  when  there  was  no  Venus  of  Melos,  and  no 
Parthenon  frieze.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  conceive  of  the  effect  upon  art, 
or  to  realize  how  powerful  was  the  stimulus  given  to  culture  by  affording 
scholars  and  artists  direct  access  to  the  art  of  Rome  and  Greece.  It  is  said 
that  more  than  a  hundred  and  thirty  pupils  studied  under  Squarcione,  ex- 
amining and  drawing  from  the  antique.  Thus,  by  calling  attention  to  the 
beauties  of  classic  art,  at  a  time  when  comparatively  little  thought  was 
given  to  it,  Squarcione  did  much  towards  reviving  the  antique,  which,  at 
first,  and  in  the  person  of  a  genius  like  Mantegna,  was  productive  of  great 
good,  but  later,  when  it  deteriorated  into  a  matter  of  slavish  copying,  be- 
came a  powerful  agent  for  degeneration.  Squarcione,  in  collecting  works 
of  Greek  and  Roman  art,  and  setting  his  pupils  to  studying  them,  did  for 
the  graphic  arts  what  such  a  scholar  as  Leonardo  Bruni  did  for  literature  by 
unearthing  and  bringing  together  many  hitherto  unknown  works  of  the 
classic  authors,  and  giving  Italy  her  first  translations  of  Greek  philos- 
ophers, poets,  and  historians.  Together,  these  men,  and  scores  of  others 
similarly  employed,  were  doing  everything  in  their  power  to  revive  the 
art  and  learning  of  the  ancient  world,  and  any  one  of  them  might  have 
said,  as  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  enthusiastic  of  their  number  was  in  the 
habit  of  saying :  "  I  go  to  awake  the  dead. "  It  was  their  avowed  mission 
in  life,  and  never  were  there  greater  or  more  intelligent  enthusiasts. 

In  the  earlier  painting  of  Mantegna  the  effect  of  his  close  study  of  bas- 
relief  sculpture  is  clearly  discernible.  Many  of  his  frescoes,  fine  as  they 
are  in  composition  and  perspective,  by  their  rigidity  suggest  bas-relief,  as 
do  they  also  by  their  lack  of  such  coloring  as  makes  one  think  of  light  at 
the  same  time  that  he  distinguishes  objects  as  having  their  true  colors. 
They  are  subject  to  the  modern  criticism  which  is  but  a  repetition  of  Va- 
sari's  when  he  says:  "Andrea  had  therein  copied  from  antique  marbles, 
from  which  no  man  can  perfectly  acquire  the  art  of  painting,  seeing  that 
stone  must  ever  retain  some  of  the  rigidity  of  its  nature,  and  never  displays 
that  tender  softness  proper  to  fresh  and  natural  forms  which  are  pliant  and 
exhibit  various  movements."     The  very  money  which  Andrea  earned  by 

[  94  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Leyden,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

painting,  he  expended  in  forming  a  collection  of  antiques  for  himself  and 
in  buying  books  which  contained  information  concerning  ancient  customs 
and  manners.  He  had,  in  common  with  his  age,  a  consuming  passion  for 
the  ancient  world  and  its  art,  which,  so  far  as  Mantegna  knew  it,  or  we 
know  it,  was,  primarily,  an  art  of  form,  in  the  sense  of  solids,  i.e.,  statues, 
no  considerable  works  of  painting,  of  color,  hav  ing  survived.  Hence  it  is 
not  remarkable  that  he  should  have  embraced  the  art  of  engraving  as  a 
mode  of  expression  peculiarly  suited  to  his  dominant  manner  of  thought, 
which,  as  the  result  of  his  studies,  was  naturally  concerned  with  form,  in 
the  sense  of  the  three  dimensions  expressed  in  outline,  and  light  and  shade. 
Of  the  twenty- three  engravings  of  Mantegna  described  by  Bartsch,' 
ten  are  of  Christian  subjects,  the  Resurrection  or  the  Entombment,  while 
ten  others  are  chosen  incidents  of  Roman  history  or  mythology,  and  the 
remaining  three  are  portraits.  This  fact  serves  to  illustrate  the  manner  of 
his  thinking,  in  his  time  new  and  unusual,  which  mingled  Greek  myth  with 
the  most  sacred  subject  of  Christian  writ.  Mantegna  engraved  a  battle  of 
Tritons  and  sea  gods  (Fig.  29)  in  which  Envy  is  inciting  the  monsters  to 
fight.  The  powerful  figure  of  a  Triton  is  shown  in  the  act  of  delivering  a 
blow  with  the  staff  which  he  holds  in  his  right  hand,  while  the  other  arm 
is  occupied  in  guiding  his  fabulous  steed,  the  fore  quarters  and  head  of 
which  are  horse,  the  hind  quarters  fish,  while  wings  are  attached  to  both 
sides.  In  place  of  hair  and  ears  the  Triton  has  a  beautifully  designed  head- 
gear of  acanthus  leaves.  It  is  the  direct  result  of  the  study  of  the 
classics.  On  the  other  hand  the  action  of  the  creature's  fore  legs,  the 
slippery  swirl  of  his  scaly  tail,  the  distended  nostrils  and  the  mouth 
stretched  wide  for  mockery,  all  prove  Mantegna  to  have  been  a  close 
observer  of  nature.  While  this  work  is  full  of  life  and  motion,  it  none 
the  less  has  a  quality,  due  in  great  measure  to  the  way  in  which  the  light 
and  shade  are  managed,  which  cannot  fail  to  call  bas-relief  sculpture  to 
our  minds.  Now  all  this  becomes  quite  extraordinary  when  we  consider 
the  exceedingly  simple  manner  of  the  engraving,  that  of  Mantegna's 
predecessors — see  the  anonymous  fifteenth-century  Florentine  "Assump- 
tion" (Fig.  18) — as  it  was  Mantegna's  to  the  end;  pure  outline  more  or 
less  veiled,  as  it  were,  by  shade  and  shadow.  This  shade  and  shadow 
are  made  of  parallel  lines  set  diagonally;  lines  closely  akin  to  those  of  a 

^ "  In  all,  some  twenty-five  plates  have  been  attributed  to  Mantegna,  but  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
the  master  himself  engraved  more  than  the  seven  or  eight  which  so  far  excel  the  rest  in  quality."  "A 
Short  History  of  Engraving,"  by  A.  M.  Hind. 

[  95  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing  and  Engraving 

pen  drawiiijnr.  There  is  almost  no  attempt  to  make  the  lines  of  the  shade 
follow,  reinforce,  i.e.,  give  any  idea  of  the  contours  of  the  objects  shaded. 
This  is  especially  true  of  the  waves  produced  by  the  forward  dashing  of 
the  sea-monster.  The  print  offers  a  good  example  of  the  power  of  artistic 
genius  to  make  simple  means  go  a  long  way  in  the  expression  of  complex 
action,  instinct,  and  sentiment. 


Fig.  29.      Battle  of  Sea-gods,  a  Part.      Mantegna. 


Just  before  1488  Mantegna  completed  his  chief  work,  done  for  the  Mar- 
quis of  Mantua,  a  series  of  pictures  representing  the  Triumph  of  Cagsar  (Fig. 
30).  Of  these  pictures  he  engraved  three  plates.^  They  offer  a  fine  exam- 
ple of  the  master's  magnificent  power  of  composing.  They  contain  a  mar- 
velous display  of  antiquarian  and  archeological  knowledge  of  detail,  especially 
that  one  known  as  the  Elephants;  of  incense  burners,  flaming  braziers,  vases 

^  There  is  doubt  about  the  authenticity  of  these  plates. 

[  96  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

and  vessels  sacrificial,  without  number;  helmets,  corselets,  and  arms,  the 
bull  with  bound  temples  for  the  sacrifice,  preceded  by  men  wearing  fillets 
and  blowing  wind  instruments,  and  followed  by  laurel-crowned  elephants 
richly  caparisoned,  and  mounted  by  youths  holding  aloft  the  emblems  of 


Fig.  30.      Triumph  of  Caesar.      Mantegna. 

power  and  successful  comjuest ;  all  these,  and  many  more,  entering  into  the 
composition  lend  pomp  and  splendor  of  accessory  to  the  central  idea  of  the 
triumphal  procession  as  it  moves  with  the  dignified  rhythm  and  irresistible 
force  of  a  well-ordered  phalanx;  of  huge  beasts;  of  a  conqueror's  chariots. 
The  design  is  made  up  of  broad  and  simple  masses,  distinctly  outlined ;  of 

[  97  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving' 

a  succession  of  splendid  forms ;  but  in  no  instance  is  the  elaboration  of  de- 
tails, neither  the  richest  twisting  of  a  candelabrum  nor  the  most  intricate 
pattern  of  a  saddlecloth,  allowed  to  confuse  the  central  thought,  the  real 
import  of  the  work.  The  background  of  parallel  diagonal  lines,  ploughed 
or  engraved,  presumably  from  left  to  right  upwards,  is  repeated  in  lighter 
and  slighter  degree  to  give  the  required  shade  to  the  figures.  But,  owing 
to  the  strong  and  certain  outlines  of  the  figures,  the  background  and  the 
shade  are  nowhere  confounded.  This  print  is  filled  with  classic  regard  for 
orderly  arrangement  and  numbered  masses,  attributes  of  all  good  bas-relief 
sculpture,  revived  and  made  to  live  again  by  this  rejuvenated  pagan,  An- 
drea Mantegna,  and  yet  the  work  is,  as  a  whole,  in  the  best  sense,  original. 
It  is  a  true  love-child  of  the  Italian  Renaissance. 

The  Dante  vignette  (Fig.  14),  a  work  of  the  Botticelli-Baldini  group, 
so-called,  is  an  example  of  art  in  which  the  execution  was  about  equal  to  ex- 
pressing the  artistic  conception,  which  was  a  primitive  one.  ^  The  ' '  Triumph 
of  Caesar"  is  a  work  of  art  in  which  a  very  fully  developed  artistic  con- 
ception found  expression  in  a  technique  almost  equally  developed,  because 
so  simple  and  adequate,  though  one  which  was  afterwards,  in  some  re- 
spects at  least,  improved  by  the  chief  representative  of  Italian  engraving, 
Marcantonio.  As  conveyancers  of  the  artist's  conception  by  means  of 
drawing ;  as  works  which  strictly  regard  the  conventions  and  inherent  lim- 
itations of  the  engraver's  art,  the  "Triumph"  and  the  "Tritons"  (Fig.  29) 
are  alike  marvels.  At  the  end  of  his  life  of  Mantegna,  Vasari  pays  a  deserv- 
edly high  tribute  to  the  artist  as  such,  and  adds,  in  closing,  an  appreciation 
of  his  zeal  for  engraving,  based  upon  the  grounds  that  it  helped  disseminate 
a  liberal  culture  by  enabling  others,  as  he  says,  "the  whole  world,  to  ob- 
tain the  power  of  seeing  many  of  his  works  and,  in  like  manner,  now  the 
art  has  become  so  universal,  to  allow  everyone  to  judge  of  the  manner  of 
all  the  artists  who  ever  lived. ' '  Thus  early  was  engraving  recogized  as  a 
force  in  the  world  of  learning  and  culture.  On  the  other  hand  Martin 
Schongauer's  admirable  modeling,  the  light  and  shade  in  his  engravings, 
obtained  by  the  use  of  curved  lines,  short  lines,  and  dots,  has  already  been 

^  Primitive,  for  example,  in  the  sense  that  the  artist  attempted  to  make  his  picture  produce  an  im- 
pression of  the  progress  of  time;  the  succession  of  events  in  time;  not  an  impression  of  the  event  in  a 
given  instant,  so  to  speak,  uno  ictu,  at  a  stroke.  And  yet  there  is  nothing  primitive  in  those  drawings 
by  Botticelli  done  with  a  silver  point  and  already  discussed,  which  may  fairly  be  assumed  as  the  basis 
on  which  the  engraver  of  these  illustrations  formed  his  ideas.  But  the  engraving,  per  se,  is  primitive 
in  the  sense  of  undeveloped  and  distinctly  immergent  rather  than  sure  and,  as  we  say,  thoroughly 
accomplished. 

[  98  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

considered.  As  a  chiaroscurist,  a  master  of  light  and  shade,  he  far 
surpassed  his  contemporary,  Mantegna.  In  Martin's  work  outhne  and 
shade  are  merged  in  a  way  that  resembles  the  modern,  while  in  Man- 
tegna's  they  are  always  separate  things.  But  Schongauer  fell  far  short 
of  Mantegna  as  a  composer,  his  designs  not  infrequently  being  cluttered 
with  extraneous  objects  which  detract  from  the  breadth  of  the  whole.' 
Though  a  better  technician  than  Mantegna,  Schongauer  was  not  so  con- 
summate an  artist.  Now  the  Italians,  always  eager  to  improve  their  arts, 
were  not  slow  to  recognize  those  qualities  in  which  northern  engraving 
surpassed  their  own.  It  was  Albert  Diirer  who  in  great  measure  revo- 
lutionized Italian  engraving.  He  was  born  in  1471  and  died  in  1528,  but 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  greatest  of  the  northern  line  engravers 
we  can  not  pass  by  the  Dutch  engraver,  Lucas  of  Leyden,  who  also 
learned  the  goldsmith's  trade,  and  came  out  a  painter,  and  is  known  as 
one  of  the  ablest  of  line  engravers,  perhaps  having  no  superiors  save  Marc- 
antonio and  Albert  Diirer.  Lucas  showed  an  early  interest  in  texture, 
and  a  tendency,  very  noticeable  in  later  Dutch  art,  to  express  inherent 
differences  of  texture  and  surface  in  engraving.  Vasari  notes  this  in  a 
reference  to  a  print  of  his  called  "Human  Force,"  finished  with  such  care 
that  the  glitter  of  the  arms  and  the  gloss  of  the  black  horse's  coat  are 
clearly  to  be  distinguished,  an  effect  of  very  difficult  production  in  design.^ 
Note  the  fur  of  the  lining  and  collar  of  the  robe  of  the  third  king  in  '  'The 
Three  Kings"  (Fig.  31),  and  the  feathers  in  the  hats  of  some  of  the 
personages  in  the  background  of  this  print.  The  desire  for  expressing 
texture  is  one  that  often  costs  an  artist  the  far  more  precious  quality  of 
breadth,  and,  in  later,  and  in  much  modern  engraving,  often  usurps  the 
place  of  real  merit,  because,  by  its  marvelous  power  of  representing  petty 
details  and  unimportant  characteristics,  it  appeals  to  the  eyes  of  unedu- 

•  By  breadth,  in  this  connection,  is  meant  that  character  in  pictorial  design  which  keeps  the  sense  of 
the  whole  subject,  the  artist's  conception  as  a  whole,  forever  before  the  mind  of  the  spectator,  never  al- 
lowing him  to  forget  the  whole  because  of  the  interest  or  the  charm  that  may  pertain  to  the  details,  or 
parts  of  which  the  whole  is  made  up.  In  other  words,  breadth  in  pictures  means  that  the  forest  is  not 
forgotten  because  of  the  trees;  that  the  subject,  as  a  whole,  is  ever  before  the  observer's  mind  because  it 
was  so  before  the  artist's.  Such  breadth  has  its  place  in  all  great  art  and  means  that  the  artist,  while 
he  is  dealing  with  numberless  details,  is  always  selecting  and  omitting,  in  order  to  emphasize  the  intel- 
lectual intent  which  is  to  be  conveyed  by  his  picture  to  his  spectators.  His  natural  eye  is  always  on  the 
object,  but  his  inner  eye  is  never  closed  to  that  totality  of  meaning  to  which  the  object  is  but  secondary, 
though  requisite  and  necessary.  The  true  artist  always  sets  art  before  nature,  though  he  never  for  one 
instant  forgets  that  art  cannot  rival  or  equal  nature. 

2  Design  here  means  drawing  in  the  usual  sense. 

[  99  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

cated  persons,  who  are  always  to  be  caught  by  any  appearance  of  decep- 
tive reaUsm  in  pictures.  Such  persons  will  often  pass  by  qualities  of 
great  design  with  the  comment,  "It  does  not  look  natural."  His  por- 
traits offer  repeated  illustration  of  the  delicacy  and  extreme  accuracy  of 
Lucas  of  Leyden's  touch  with  the  burin,  and  testify  to  the  truth  of 
Vasari's  statement,  just  quoted,  by  the  manner,  for  example,  in  which  the 
roughened  edge  of  a  felt  hat  is  distinguished  from  the  smooth  shiny  nap 
of  the  under  side  of  the  brim.     Again  Vasari  says  that  Lucas  "made 


Fig.  31.      The  Three  Kings.      Lucas  of  Leyden. 


every  portion  of  his  picture  recede  into  the  distance,  each  object  being 
less  clearly  made  out  as  the  distance  increases,  exactly  as  we  find  in  na- 
ture."  The  truth  of  these  and  many  similar  statements  is  attested  by 
his  splendid  "Three  Kings  Presenting  their  Gifts,"  one  of  his  best  en- 
gravings. This  same  print  illustrates  the  rapid  progress  made  in  the  mat- 
ter of  grouping  figures,  in  perspective,  and  in  light  and  shade  as  com- 
pared, for  instance,  with  the  work  of  Schongauer.  How  completely,  in 
the  full  modeling  of  figures,  in  the  different  planes  represented,  all  so  real- 

[  100  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Leyden,  Durer,  Holbein 

istic,  this  print  differs  from  Mantegna's  "Triumph  of  Csesar,"  which, 
though  expressive  of  the  abstract  beauty  of  mass  and  hne,  the  very  ecstasy 
of  rhythm,  is  in  no  degree  realistic.  Together  they  offer  notable  illustra- 
tion of  the  native  bents  and  inherited  tendencies  of  northern  and  south- 
ern art  respectively.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  Lucas  of  Leyden  was  a 
master  of  the  art  of  engraving.  At  sixteen  he  engraved  the  print  "Cow- 
herd and  Milkmaid,"  which  shows  him  to  have  been  a  true  forerunner  of 
the  great  Dutch  animal  painters.  It  is  to  be  doubted  if  Cuyp  or  Paul 
Potter  could  have  improved  on  the  cattle  that  Lucas  of  Leyden  drew,  and 
engraved  in  this  charming  little  print.  In  a  not  less  masterly  and  direct 
manner  did  he  treat  trees  and  the  various  objects  which  go  to  make  up  what 
is  ordinarily  thought  of  as  landscape.  In  no  narrow  or  restricted  sense  was 
he  one  of  the  early  advancers  of  pure  draughtsmanship,  and  a  splendid 
master  of  the  art  of  making  pictures  in  line  at  a  time  when  this  art  was 
not  far  advanced.  His  is  a  name  to  be  reckoned  with  in  drawing  and  en- 
graving equally,  despite  the  fact  that  many  authorities  call  his  work  hard 
in  point  of  technique,  and  forbidding  in  its  artistic  concept. 

We  now  return  to  Diirer,  great  painter,  as  well  as  greatest  engraver, 
who,  literally,  carrying  the  ideals  of  a  northern  artist  into  Italy,  gave  Ital- 
ian artists  a  fresh  inspiration,  and,  directly,  by  his  own  engraving,  in- 
spired the  greatest  of  all  the  engravers  of  Italy,  Marcantonio.  It  would 
not  be  far  from  the  truth  to  say  that  Diirer  took  the  doctrine  of  realism 
into  Italy,  and  carried  back  the  doctrine  of  idealism.  Diirer  represents 
the  former,  as  Raphael  does  the  latter. 

Little  is  known  definitely  of  Diirer' s  early  education,  beyond  a  few 
important  facts  stated  in  his  diary.  ' '  When  I  had  learned  to  read  and 
write  my  father  took  me  from  school  with  the  intention  of  teaching  me 
goldsmith  work.  In  this  I  began  to  do  very  well,  but  my  love  was  to- 
ward painting.  ^My  father  let  me  have  my  will,  and  in  the  year  1486, 
Nov.  30th,  he  settled  me  apprentice  with  Michel  Wohlgemuth  to  serve 
him  three  years."  After  this  period  of  apprenticeship  came  four  years  of 
travel  and  study,  but  where,  and  of  what,  we  know  not  with  exactitude. 
Diirer  cannot  have  learned  a  great  deal  from  Wohlgemuth,  for  his  earliest 
works  differ  radically  from  extant  work  of  his  master,  who  had  an  ex- 
tremely archaic  manner.  From  Martin  Schongauer,  justly  called  Martin 
the  Skillful,  he  doubtless  learned  much.  One  of  his  earliest  engravings 
is  a   copy  of  one   of  Schongauer's   with    his   own    monogram,   A.   D., 

[  101  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

attached  to  it.  From  first  to  last  Albert  Diirer's  drawing,  and  engraving, 
which,  Ruskin  well  said,  "differs  from  common  drawing  only  by  the  diffi- 
culties it  has  to  encounter,"  displays  exact  likeness  of  every  minutest  part 
of  the  subject  treated.  It  is  full  of  intense,  passionate,  and  reverent  ad- 
miration for  nature,  which  gives  it  that  supreme  interest  which  it  has  for 
artists,  painters  and  draughtsmen  alike,  yet  it  lacks  the  idealized  portrai- 
ture which  places  Italian  design,  at  its  best,  above  all  other.  Diirer's 
compositions,  however  filled  with  detail,  are  never  confused.  Through- 
out his  work  there  is  evidence  of  rigorous  selection.  No  detail,  however 
trivial,  enters  into  his  design  by  accident.  In  other  words,  the  intel- 
lectual intent  of  the  artist  is  emphasized  far  above  any  interest  which  may 
be  accessory  to  it;  the  "action  of  the  piece"  on  Diirer's  stage,  his  picture, 
is  never  confused  by  the  setting,  and  yet  it  is  pole-distant  from  the  Italian 
conception  of  idealized  portraiture.  Much  of  Diirer's  design  is  homely 
in  the  right  sense  of  the  word,  but  none  of  it  is  stupid,  or  dull.  Much  of 
it  is  religious,  but  little  of  it  involves  doctrinal  dispute,  such  subjects 
being  chosen  as  "The  Apocalypse,"  one  of  his  earliest  sets  of  woodcuts, 
fifteen  in  number,  done  in  1498,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  and  in- 
tense creations  of  Christian  art;  perhaps  the  most  so.  Or  again,  other 
sets,  the  "Life  of  the  Virgin"  in  twenty  plates,  or  the  two  versions  of 
the  "Passion  of  Christ,"  one  set  in  twelve,  and  the  other  in  thirty-seven 
plates,  in  all  of  which,  so  far  as  subject  is  concerned,  there  was  evident 
intent  to  teach,  while  in  the  ease  of  production  and  consequent  small  cost, 
engraved  as  they  were  on  wood,  the  democratic  desire  to  make  art  the 
common  possession  of  the  common  people  is  evident.  In  this  respect 
Diirer  belonged  to  the  Reformation.  His  popularity  with  the  public 
soon  became  great,  and  his  works  were  even  forged  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent. This  happened  abroad,  as  well  as  at  home,  and  one  instance  which 
is  famous  in  the  history  of  art,  believed,  by  those  who  follow  the  otherwise 
unsupported  declarations  of  Vasari,  to  have  made  xjurci  very  angry  and 
to  have  induced  him  to  proceed  legally  against  the  forger,  is  that  of  the 
Italian  engraver,  Marcantonio,  who  copied  Diirer's  woodcuts  on  copper, 
signed  them  with  Diirer's  monogram,  and  sold  them  to  the  Italian  ad- 
mirers of  the  northern  artist  as  authentic  works.  The  fact  of  the  forgery 
seems  unquestioned.  The  details  of  the  quarrel  are  more  or  less  apocryphal. 
During  his  life  Diirer  made  two  important  journeys,  one  to  Venice 
in  150G,  of  which  we  know  from  letters  to  his  friend,  Perkheimer;  the 

[  102  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Diirer,  Holbein 

other  to  the  Low  Countries  in  1520  and  1521,  the  events  of  which  he  re- 
corded in  his  journal.  In  a  letter  dated  Venice,  Candlemas,  1506,  he 
gives  an  interesting  note  upon  contemporary  Italian  opinion  of  his  own 
work.  "They  say,"  he  writes,  "that  my  art  is  not  as  the  antique  and 
therefore  is  not  good.  But  Gian  Bellini,  who  has  praised  me  much  before 
many  gentlemen,    wishes  to  have  something  from  my  hand."     That  he 


Fig.  32.      The  Visitation.      Diirer, 

was  happy  in  Venice  and  found  there  what  he  did  not  find  at  home  is 
proved  by  the  following  statement  in  a  letter  of  the  same  year,  made  in  ref- 
erence to  his  return  to  Germany:  "Alas!  how  shall  I  live  in  Niirnberg 
after  the  bright  sun  of  Venice !  Here  I  am  the  lord ;  at  home  only  the 
hanger-on." 

"The  Visitation"  (Fig.  32),  tenth  in  the  series  of  the  "Life  of  the 
Virgin, "  exhibits  a  piece  of  typical  Diireresque  landscape.     It  is  also  one  of 

[  103  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

his  most  delightful  compositions.  With  lines  of  measurable  thickness,  and 
almost  no  crosshatchings,  Diirer  has  managed  to  give  depth  of  shade 
and  shadow ;  with  definitely  outlined  white  spaces,  effects  of  light ;  with 
straightness,  curving,  or  twisting  of  lines,  the  flatness,  concavity,  and  con- 
vexity of  surfaces.  With  such  simple  means,  yet  all  that  were  appropri- 
ate to  the  nature  of  his  medium,  wood,  and  the  character  of  his  tool,'  he 
has  succeeded  in  giving  much  of  the  floating  quality  of  cloud  and  the  soft 
fine  roundness  of  foliage.  Note  the  jagged,  hollow,  sloping  hills,  and 
those,  white  in  the  sunlight,  beyond ;  the  snug  village  with  its  inevitable 
towers,  set  upon  a  hill,  and  the  rolling  fields,  separated  from  the  fore- 
ground by  the  trees  kept  low  behind  the  principal  figures,  so  that  their 
heads  may  have  prominence  by  contrast  with  the  background,  while  to 
the  right  they  rise  high  and  beautiful,  forming  a  pendant  to  the  wall  of  the 
house  on  the  other  side.  Note,  too,  the  dog  and  plant  in  the  foreground,  and 
monogram  tablet  in  the  center.^  From  prints  like  this  we  learn  how  a 
picture  may  be  broad  and  yet  full  of  detail.  How  forcibly,  too,  is  the  in- 
tellectual interest  emphasized !  In  the  doorway  stands  the  aged,  thought- 
ful Zacharias,  his  head  uncovered;  at  the  right  a  group  of  marveling 
women,  all  standing  back,  full  of  considerate  awe  at  the  joy  of  Mary  and 
Elisabeth,  so  clearly  expressed  as  they  stretch  forth  their  arms  and  look 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes.  The  landscape  is  northern  and  local. 
The  women  are  simple  housewives.  Elisabeth  has  her  keys  at  her  girdle. 
It  is  all  homely,  but  is  it  easy  to  conceive  of  a  more  nearly  perfect  illus- 
tration, imaginative  in  the  manner  that  it  exalts  everyday  life,  and  illus- 
trative because  it  follows  the  text,  makes  clear,  and  emphasizes  the  verse 
from  St.  Luke:  "And  Mary  arose  in  those  days,  and  went  into  the  hill 
country  with  haste,  into  a  city  of  Juda;  and  entered  into  the  house  of 
Zacharias,  and  saluted  Elisabeth ' '  ? 

^  "  What  the  great  artists  have  actually  done  has  been  to  express  only  that  part  of  themselves  which 
could  be  readily  expressed  in  the  kind  of  art  they  happened  to  be  using  for  the  moment."  "  Soul  and 
Matter  in  the  Fine  Arts,"  by  P.  G.  Hamerton. 

-  "  Durer  was  in  the  habit  of  making  the  cartouche,  framed  space  or  tablet  on  which  he  signed  his 
name  and  placed  the  date  of  his  picture,  an  essential  and  beautiful  part  of  his  design.  He  is  curiously 
akin,  in  this  respect,  to  the  Japanese  and  Chinese,  whose  signatures,  so-called,  are  often  objects  of  in- 
trinsically real  and  enhancing  beauty.  Compare  the  superimposed  squares  for  lettering  in  the  upper 
right,  and  the  unframed  lettering  in  the  lower  middle  of  the  Japanese  drawing  of  a  bird  among  bamboos, 
roses,  and  honeysuckle.  Fig.  6,  with  the  name  tablet  hung  on  that  more  than  lovely  blooming  branch 
with  the  perched  parrot  in  Diirer's  "Temptation."  The  whole  subject  of  the  signatory  cartouche  as 
an  important  feature  in  design  awaits  worthy  treatment. 

[  104  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

The  sixteenth  of  this  same  series  has  "The  Repose  in  Egypt"  (Fig.  33) 
for  its  subject.  ' '  He  took  the  young  child  and  his  mother  by  night,  and  de- 
parted into  Egypt:  and  was  there  until  the  death  of  Herod,"  says  St. 
Matthew.  A  truly  delightful  and  homely  conception  of  that  time  has 
Diirer  given  us.     The  technique  of  this  print  is  the  same  as  that  of  the 


Fig.  38.      The  Repose  in  Egypt.      Diirer. 

"Visitation."  To  Diirer's  mind  nothing  was  more  productive,  or  sugges- 
tive of  family  repose  than  manly  labor  and  motherly  care.  Again,  although 
the  text  says  Egypt,  we  have  a  typical  hill  castle  of  a  northern  Gothic  town 
and  landscape  like  that  behind  the  city  of  Juda  in  the  "Visitation,"  which 
serve  as  setting  for  the  scene  in  which  he  has  depicted  Joseph  at  his  bench 

[  105  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving' 

with  Mary  seated  at  work  near  by,  while  Jesus  sleeps  in  the  cradle  at  her 
knee.  Angels  watch  over  and  adore  him,  while  charming  little  cherubs, 
all  fun  and  pranks,  are  busily  engaged  in  gathering  the  waste  from  the  carpen- 
ter's bench  and  piling  it  into  a  basket,  in  thrifty  fashion,  against  tomorrow's 


Fig.  34.      Melancholia,      Diirer. 

need.  In  the  sky  over  all  appear  God  the  Father,  and  the  dove  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  a  very  distinct  way,  on  Diirer's  part,  of  saying  that  the  second 
person  of  the  Trinity  was  at  the  moment  incarnate. 

Turning  from  Diirer's  religious  engravings  as  well  as  from  his  wood- 
cuts we  are  confronted  by  a  long  list  of  allegorical  and  emblematic  subjects 

[  106  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

done  in  the  finest,  i.e.,  in  most  exquisite  manner  of  line  engraving  on  co])- 
per.  Among  these  are  "Death  and  a  Knight,"  "Fate,"  "Temperance," 
and  best-known  of  all,  the  much  discussed  "Melancholia"  (Fig.  34).  It 
must  be  understood  that  Diirer's  metal  engravings  are  his  own  work,  while 
wholly,  or  to  a  very  large  extent,  his  woodcuts  are  the  work  of  assistants, 
under  his  guidance,  cutting  his  drawings  upon  the  blocks.  From  one  point 
of  view  this  makes  the  metal  work  more  absolutely  representative  of  Diirer 
than  the  wood;  i.e.,  as  being  Diirer's  drawing.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
one  considers  how  Diirer  designed  his  wood  subjects  with  especial  regard 
to  the  process  of  wood  reproduction,  and  how  he  watched  the  actual  labor 
of  cutting,  the  value  of  these  cuts,  as  representing  their  great  author,  will 
always  remain  unique.  In  technical  quality  his  metal  engraving  is  unsur- 
passed, while,  as  design,  comprehending  full  chiaroscuro,  difficult  per- 
spective, and  more  difficult  foreshortenings,  it  is  the  model  of  perfection. 
It  displays  a  decided  advance  in  the  rendering  of  textures,  as  may  be  seen 
in  the  polished  scalepan  of  the  "Melancholia";  in  the  sharp  folds  of  the 
woman's  skirt,  suggestive  of  stiff  silk  as  utterly  different  from  the  curving 
folds  of  the  material  of  her  sleeves  which  look  like  heavy  woolen;  or  the 
difference  between  the  texture  of  the  lamb's  coat  and  that  of  the  millstone 
on  which  the  Cupid  sits ;  or  the  plane  and  board  in  the  foreground,  and 
the  texture  of  the  inimitably  drawn  wing  with  its  soft  overlapping  feathers 
where  it  comes  into  high  light.  Technically  this  print  is  one  of  the  won- 
ders of  engraving.  The  meaning  of  it,  however,  is  not  clear.  A  great 
deal  has  been  written  about  it,  and  yet  will  be,  but  after  all  has  been  writ- 
ten the  design  will  probably  remain  an  enigma.  Believe  as  we  will,  with 
one  authority  that  it  symbolizes  truth ;  with  another,  intellectual  activity ; 
with  a  third  that  it  was  intended  to  emphasize  the  text,  "All  is  Van- 
ity";— believe  as  we  like,  yet  let  us  not  fail  to  recognize  in  it  the  emana- 
tion of  the  mind  and  hand  of  genius;  a  work  of  art;  and  "be  satisfied,"  as 
Lowell  said  of  great  poetry,  "if  it  be  delightful,  or  helpful,  or  inspiring, 
or  all  these  together,  but  do  not  consider  too  nicely  why  it  is  so."  As 
showing  Diirer's  mastery  of  pure  form,  whether  the  human  figure,  or 
animals  and  trees  be  under  consideration,  his  "Adam  and  Eve"  (Fig.  35) 
stands  forth  preeminent.  The  influence  of  the  great  Italians  whom  he  so 
admired  is  marked  in  his  drawing  of  these  two  splendid  nude  figures.  The 
delicacy  of  their  modeling  by  means  of  crosshatchings  of  hair  lines,  associated 
with  dots,  is  superb.    The  softness  and  sleekness  of  the  cat  and  mouse  which 

[  107  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

are  lying  down  together,  meaning  the  time  when  even  the  beasts  were  at 
peace,  are  none  the  less  monumental  because  they  are  petty  matters.  The 
way  in  which,  by  the  curving  and  bending  of  innumerable  close-set  lines, 
Diirer,  in  this  miracle  of  artistic  draughtsmanship  and  technique,  tells  us 


Fig.  85.      Adam  and  Eve.      Diirer. 

about  the  roundness  of  tree  trunks  and  the  individual  shape  of  gnarl  and 
break  is  utterly  amazing.  The  branch  bearing  apples  among  fig  leaves,  a 
curious  disregard  of  the  Biblical  comment  on  gathering  figs  of  thistles,  is  a 
bit  of  difficult  and  exquisite  drawing  done  with  a  burin  held  and  guided  by 

[  108  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Diirer,  Holbein 

Diirer  himself.  As  such  it  is  beyond  praise.  And  notice,  too,  how,  by 
shghtly  flattening  the  serpent's  body,  he  suggests  the  tight  hold  which  the 
snake's  double  coil  gives  him  as  he  reaches  far  out  to  offer  the  fruit  of 
temptation  to  the  first  woman.  And  yet,  great  as  is  this  '  'Adam  and  Eve, ' ' 
some  of  his  simpler  work  of  the  same  and  a  later  period  is,  as  art,  far  su- 
perior for  the  reason  that  it  fathoms  more  deeply  and  reports  more  truth- 
fully the  depths  of  human  feeling.     Of  such  is  the  incomparable  little  "St. 


VI' 

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fflb-/  *T 

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V     ■    ""'    *"     ;   '     « 

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.,..-...,„,,^  ■ 

Fig.  36.      St.  Anthony  Outside  a  City.      Diirer. 

Anthony  outside  the  Walls  of  a  City"  (Fig.  36).  The  saint,  seated  and 
reading,  is  clad  in  coat,  cape,  and  cowl,  each  of  which  shows  to  what  remark- 
able degree  the  forms  of  objects,  in  this  case  folds  of  drapery,  can  be  rendered 
by  careful  curvature  of  simple  parallel  lines.  Very  strong  effects  of  shade 
and  shadow  are  produced  by  the  simplest  possible  crosshatching ;  one  set 
of  lines  crossed  by  another,  and  never  crossed  in  more  than  two  directions. 
The  high  fortified  town  with  its  buildings  in  masterly  perspective,  photo- 
graphically correct,  it  might  be  said,  is  engraved  in  the  same  simple  style 

[  109  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

as  the  figure  of  St.  Anthony.  So,  too,  the  reflections  in  the  moat,  the 
httle  trees  on  the  ishmds,  even  the  reeds  at  the  water's  edge,  and  yet,  above 
all  these  really  minor  details,  the  conception  of  the  artist,  intellectual  and 
poetic  at  once,  in  a  word,  his  humanity,  is  distinctly  realized,  for  he  makes 
us  feel  St.  Anthony's  complete  absorption  in  his  book  and  his  correspond- 
ingly complete  abstraction  from  the  world  about  him.  At  the  "Adam 
and  Eve ' '  (P'ig.  35)  we  look  and  wonder.  At  the  ' '  MelanchoHa ' '  (Fig.  34) 
we  look  and  think.  At  the  "St.  Anthony"  we  look,  and  looking  enter 
into  his  state  of  mind  to  some  degree ;  in  fine,  feel  and  sympathize  with 
him ;  in  still  other  words,  we  are  moved.  This  means  that  the  little  draw- 
ing or  engraving,  they  are  the  same,  remember,  is  possessed  of  power.  So 
it  is,  and  so  it  has  been  felt  to  be  by  many  men  through  many,  many  years. 
Finally,  only  that  art  is  consummately  great  which  can  move  us,  for  mov- 
ing implies  power.  There  are  other  tests  of  great  art  besides  this  one,  but 
this  one  is  final,  in  the  last  analysis  superseding  all  the  others. 

Marcantonio  was  born  in  Bologna  and  was  apprenticed  to  the  Bolo- 
gnese  painter,  Francesco  Francia,  in  whose  workshop  he  is  said  by  Vasari  to 
have  learned  the  art  of  engraving  ornaments  upon  articles  of  wearing  ap- 
parel, buckles  and  clasps,  and  likewise  the  art  of  designing  or  drawing,  in 
which  he  soon  surpassed  his  master.  The  exact  date  of  his  birth  is  un- 
known, but  it  is  reasonably  certain  that  he  was  still  a  young  man  when, 
in  1509,  he  set  out  on  his  travels,  having,  to  quote  Vasari,  "conceived  the 
desire  which  is  felt  by  so  many  men  of  seeing  somewhat  of  the  world,  and 
the  mode  of  proceeding  in  use  among  the  artists  of  other  lands."  He 
probably  went  first  to  Venice,  and  soon  after  his  arrival  saw  some  of  Dii- 
rer's  woodcuts,  brought  thither  as  merchandise  from  Germany.  Partly 
because  he  realized  that  there  was  a  market  for  such  things,  and  partly  be- 
cause he  admired  them,  Marcantonio,  as  has  already  been  said,  made 
copies  of  them,  signed  them  with  Diirer's  monogram  and  sold  them  as 
the  works  of  Diirer's  hand.  Later,  when  Marcantonio  copied  other  of 
Diirer's  prints  he  added  his  own  monogram.  His  success  seems  to  have 
determined  him  to  devote  his  life  to  engraving,  and  it  is  significant  of  all 
that  he  afterwards  did,  that  he  should  have  begun  as  a  copyist  and  trans- 
lator of  another  man's  work,  for  he  was  to  end  copying  and  translating 
that  of  Raphael.  From  the  first  he  seems  to  have  been  able  to  enter 
into  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  greatness,  Diirer's  to  begin  with; 
Raphael's  later  on.     To  do  this  thing  which  is  immeasurably  rare  is,  in 

[  110  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Diirer,  Holbein 

itself,  the  proof  of  greatness,  Marcantonio  was  possessed  of  that  rarest 
essential,  alike  of  the  man  who  would  practice  art  and  the  man  who  would 
understand  and  appreciate  art,  an  understanding  heart. 

The  print,  "Man  Asleep  by  a  Wood"  (Fig.  37),  an  early  work,  done 
perhaps  while  Marcantonio  was  in  Bologna,  in  technique  similar  to  Diirer's 
and  altogether  unlike  that  of  Mantegna,  inclines  one  to  the  belief  that  Marc- 
antonio either  was  acquainted  with  Diirer's  work  before  he  left  Bologna, 


Fig.  37.      Man  Asleep  by  a  Wood       Marcantonio  Raimondi. 

or  that  the  plate  is  of  a  later  date  than  that  usually  ascribed  to  it.  As 
Bartsch  ^  says,  it  was  probably  done  from  a  design  of  Francia's,  and  pos- 
sibly from  a  painting,  in  which  case  it  is  a  very  characteristic  bit  of  Marc- 
antonio's  work,  in  the  sense  that  it  is  really  a  translation;  the  work  of  a 
translator-engraver.  In  the  treatment  of  the  figures,  and  especially  in  the 
pose  of  the  sleeping  man  and  the  graceful  fall  of  the  woman's  draperies, 
this  little    print    foreshadowed  the  marvelously    adequate    renderings  of 

i"Le  Peintre  Graveur,"  par  Adam  Bartsch,  1867,  page  330,  Vol.  XIV.  IX.   Sujets  de  Fantaisie, 
No.  438. 

[    111    ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

Raphael's  paintings,  which  were  later  to  come  from  this  engraver's  burin. 
In  modeling  the  tree  trunks  he  has  shown  some  ability,  but  an  ability  in 
no  degree  equal  to  that  of  Diirer  in  similar  passages,  while  the  foliage 
shows  him  to  have  been  wholly  unable  to  produce  those  sparkling  effects 
of  light  and  shade  which  are  the  unfailing  attributes  of  leafy  masses,  as 
well  as  their  softness.     Compare  Diirer's  "Adam  and  Eve"  (Fig.  35).     So, 


Fig.  38.      Lucretzia.      Marcantonio  Raimondi. 

too,  the  forest  lacks  sense  of  depth  and  mystery.  It  is  no  more  a  forest  than 
a  row  of  tree  trunks  would  be  a  forest,  if  set  up  in  front  of  a  dark  curtain. 
We  look  at  this  forest.     We  look  into  Diirer's. 

After  studying  some  time  in  Venice  Marcantonio  went  to  Rome 
and  here  again  we  will  let  Vasari  tell  the  story  in  his  own  words.  "Ar- 
rived in  Rome  Marcantonio  made  a  copper-plate  engraving  of  a  most 
beautiful  design  of  Raphael's,  the  Roman  Lucretzia  (Fig.  38),  namely,  who 

[  112  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

is  destroying  lier  life.  This  lie  executed  in  so  fine  a  manner  and  with  so  much 
care  that,  tlie  work  having  been  carried  by  some  friends  of  his  to  Raphael, 
the  latter  determined  to  permit  some  of  his  designs  to  be  published  by 
engravings. "  Herein  was  the  beginning  of  those  intimate  relations  which 
existed  between  the  two  men  up  to  the  day  of  Raphael's  death  in  1520. 
As  to  Marcantonio's  abilities  as  a  draughtsman,  and  incidentally  as  an 
engraver,  further  comment  would  be  superfluous;  Raphael  determined  to 
have  him  draw  and  engrave  his  designs  on  copper.  Marcantonio  worked 
directly  from  Raphael's  sketches  and  drawings  for  his  paintings,  and  often 
probably  from  drawings  made  especially  for  the  purpose  of  engraving,  i.  e. , 
as  guides,  in  the  sense  of  models  to  be  copied,  but  comparatively  little, 
during  Raphael's  life,  from  the  finished  paintings.  Hind  says:  "Of  the 
drawings  furnished  by  Raphael  to  his  engraver  very  few  are  authenticated, 
but  these  are  sufficient  to  show  how  much  was  left  to  Marcantonio  to 
elaborate  and  develop,  and  it  is  exactly  in  his  wonderful  sympathy  and 
power  in  adaptation  that  his  chief  strength  lies. "  Again,  the  understand- 
ing heart!  Raphael  frequently  assisted  Marcantonio,  sometimes,  there 
is  reason  to  believe,  even  using  the  burin  himself.  After  Raphael's  death 
he  translated,  i.e.,  drew  and  engraved  from  the  paintings.  While  occu- 
pied with  the  translation  of  the  great  painter's  works  Marcantonio 
accomplished  his  labor  with  that  supreme  intelligence  which  always  ac- 
companies genius,  making  it  truly  artistic,  for,  just  in  degree  as  an  en- 
graver's aim  becomes,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  the  transcribing,  not 
so  much  the  picture,  not  so  much  the  physical  facts  in  the  picture,  as, 
rather,  his  own  sense  and  appreciation  of  them,  does  he  become  himself  an 
artist.  The  judgment  of  A^asari  is  the  judgment  of  posterity.  Of  Marc- 
antonio's engrav^ing  it  is  said  that  "no  artist  since  his  time  has  so  well 
adapted  the  stroke  of  the  graver  to  forms,  or  has  better  understood  depth, 
character,  and  correctness  of  outline. "  This  is  but  saying  that  his  engrav- 
ing is  first-rate  drawing;  a  near  equivalent  for  Raphael's  own  drawing. 
Understanding,  depth,  character,  and  correctness  of  outline  were  among 
the  chief  attributes  of  the  central  Italian  schools  of  painting,  and  of  the 
works  of  their,  and  the  world's,  masters,  preeminently  Raphael.  Into  the 
appreciation  of  these  attributes  Marcantonio  entered  completely  and 
hence  he  became  the  perfect  engraver  of  Raphael,  and,  in  his  engravings, 
ceased,  in  the  vulgar  sense,  to  be  a  copyist  and  became,  in  the  finer  and 
truest  sense,  an  artist.      Among  his  many  prints  none  is  better  known  per- 

[  113  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

haps  than  the  "Poetry"  (Fig.  39)  engraved  after  one  of  the  ceiling  frescos 
by  Raphael  in  the  Vatican.  Poetry  is  represented  allegorically,  as  a  matron, 
laurel-crowned  and  winged,  seated  above  the  clouds  and  holding  a  lyre  in 
one  hand  and  a  book  in  the  other,  while  cherubs  support  tablets  to  left 
and  right  of  her.  Although  the  solidity  of  the  figures,  as  well  as  the  con- 
tours of  their  various  members,  are  given  with  as  great  a  degree  of  realism 


Fig.  39.      Poetry.      Marcantonio  Raimondi. 


as  is  possessed  by  the  similar  parts  in  Diirer's  "Melancholia"  (Fig.  34),  and, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  curving,  interlacing,  and  hatching  of  lines,  and  the 
faint  shades  produced  by  dots  only,  all  suggest  the  German  engraver's  in- 
fluence, there  is  in  this  print  little  or  no  attempt  to  render  texture;  no 
statement  is  made,  so  to  speak,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  materials  of  her 
robes;  much  less  than  in  the  "Melancholia"  as  to  the  character  of  the 
feathers  in  her  wings. 

[  114  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  hey  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

The  well-known  engraving  of  a  mother  embracing  her  child  (Fig.  40) 
is  perhaps  not  the  work  of  Marcantonio's  burin.  Some  authorities  have 
claimed  absolute  authenticity  for  it,  while  others  deny  that  it  is  in  any 
way  referable  to  Marcantonio.      For  this  very  reason  it  is  here  referred 


Fig,  40.      Mother  and  Child.      Anon.  Italian  Engraver  (l6th  century). 

to,  because,  if  Raphael's,  it  is  from  one  of  the  most  exquisite  designs  which 
his  mind  ever  conceived,  or  his  hand  drew,  few,  even  of  Jm  works,  the 
"Grand  Ducal  Madonna,"  for  example,  expressing  such  intense  feeling 
combined  with  equally  intense  truth  to  nature;  the  homely  and  specific 
fact  of  motherhood  and  the  universal  fact  of  motherly  affection.      If  the 

[  115  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving- 

print  is  not  by  the  hand  of  Marcantonio  it  is  by  one  of  the  men  who  were 
of  the  school  that  formed  about  the  master,  and  learned  from  him  how  to 
engrave ;  "  a  school, ' '  as  Hamerton  says,  ' '  ennobled  by  many  famous  men. ' ' 
In  this  sense  it  is  a  worthy  monument  to  Marcantonio's  genius,  for  it 
shows  that  in  him  there  was  the  temper  of  a  great  teacher,  as  well  as 
genius ;  that  he  could  teach  others  to  do  well  what  he  himself  could  do 
surpassingly  well,  which  constitutes  a  nature  as  rare  among  men  as  it  is 
serviceable  to  humanity. 

And  now  a  little  of  Hans  Holbein,  the  last  in  our  group  of  the  pre- 
eminent engravers,  artist-draughtsmen  of  the  Renaissance.  He  was  born 
at  Augsburg  in  1497.  He  passed  the  best  years  of  his  life  in  England, 
and  from  the  English  rather  than  his  own  countrymen  received  most  of 
his  patronage.  He  began  life  in  Bale,  where,  for  a  dozen  years,  in  order 
to  eke  out  a  livelihood,  he  made  ornamental  designs  and  illustrations  for 
printers  and  publishers.  This  period  saw  the  production  of  his  famous 
picture,  the  "Meyer  Madonna,"  and  some  of  his  best  portraits,  notably 
those  of  his  friends,  Melanchthon  and  Erasmus.  To  the  latter  Holbein 
owed  much  of  his  success  in  life,  because  through  him  he  obtained  from 
Henry  \\\1  an  invitation  to  go  to  England,  together  with  the  especial 
patronage  of  the  chancellor  and  scholar.  Sir  Thomas  More.  In  More's 
house  at  Chelsea  Holbein  made  his  home.  He  went  to  England  in  1526, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  two  brief  visits  to  Bale,  he  remained  there 
until  his  death. 

Holbein  is  known  to  have  been  in  accord  with  the  tendencies  of  the 
Reformation,  from  his  works,  as  well  as  from  the  records  of  the  time. 
For  instance,  he  engraved  a  print  showing  the  sale  of  indulgences ;  one  in 
which  Christ  figures  as  the  true  Light  with  the  peasants  following  Him, 
and  another,  specially  noted,  which  bears  the  date  1524,  showing  the  Pope 
in  grand  procession,  and  Christ  neglected  and  riding  on  an  ass.  He  made 
several  important  sets  of  designs  engraved  on  wood;  the  illustrations  for 
Sir  Thomas  More's  "Utopia"  and  Erasmus's  "Praise  of  Folly,"  and, 
most  important  of  all,  the  two  sets  of  illustrations  for  the  Bible,  and  the 
set  known  as  the  "Dance  of  Death. "  It  is  now  a  well-established  fact 
that  Holbein  did  not  cut  his  designs  on  the  wood  blocks  himself,  but, 
after  drawing  them,  left  the  actual  cutting  to  another  man,  one  Lutzel- 
berger,  for  the  most  part.  This  is  a  matter  which  has  caused  much  dis- 
cussion and  argument.      The  work  proves  the  power  of  Lutzelberger  as  an 

[  116  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

engraver  and  artist,  and,  in  a  measure,  makes  his  relation  to  Holbein  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  Marcantonio  to  Raphael.  With  a  series  of  coarse  lines ; 
with  no  suggestion  of  the  mystery  of  distance  or  the  infinity  of  natural 
detail;  with  no  attempt  to  render  textures;  with  no  effects  of  light  and 
shade  beyond  what  can  be  obtained  by  a  series  of  parallel  lines  of  one  tint 
throughout,  Holbein's  woodcuts  suggest  a  wonderful  amount  of  truth  to 
life  and  nature.  They  were  part  of  the  great  movement  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, as  their  author's  purpose  was  to  teach  what  he  believed  of  vital  im- 
port to  rich  and  poor  alike.  Holbein  designed,  in  the  sense  of  composed, 
his  pictures,  for  he  did  more  than  copy  what  he  saw.  The  real  meaning 
of  the  word  design  is  too  often  forgotten,  or  misunderstood,  both  by 
artists  and  laity,  in  these  days  of  so  much  which  is  misnamed  realism. 
As  has  already  been  said,  design,  from  de  and  signum,  "from  the  mark," 
as  its  component  parts  signify,  means  the  opposite  of  natural.  It  implies 
the  arrangement  of  things,  whether  lines  as  in  these  woodcuts  under  con- 
sideration, or  spots  of  color,  as  on  wall  paper,  or  folds  in  drapery,  or  plants 
in  a  garden  bed ;  the  arrangement  of  things  by  man's  agency,  as  opposed 
to  the  arrangement  of  things  naturally,  or,  as  we  say,  by  God's  agency. 
The  true  greatness  of  art  does  not  depend  upon  the  amount  of  exact  copy- 
ing of  nature,  though  the  beginning  of  all  art  must  be  based  upon  that, 
but  upon  the  number  of  thought-begetting  memoranda  of  natural  truths 
which  the  work  of  art  offers  to  the  beholder.  The  great  designer,  another 
way  of  saying  the  great  artist,  is  he  who  arranges  all  the  facts,  every  de- 
tail of  form,  color,  shade,  and  shadow,  after  a  fashion  which  he  has  con- 
ceived in  his  own  mind.  He  fits  the  things  of  nature,  in  their  natural 
semblance,  into  a  pattern  of  Ms  own  making.  Thus  he  makes  his  work  of 
art,  based  on  nature  and,  from  one  point  of  view,  absolutely  faithful  to  her, 
more  than  natural  by  adding  the  quality  of  design,  or  pattern,  a  labor  of 
his  own  imagination.  Reversely,  he  makes  his  work  of  art  less  than  nat- 
ural by  taking  away  all  such  details  as  will  tend  to  conceal  the  pattern 
upon  which  his  picture  is  fashioned;  the  pattern  or  design  of  his  own 
mind's  conceiving.  A  real  work  of  art  at  once  acknowledges  and  declares 
its  existence  to  have  been  drawn  from  the  world  of  nature,  while  its  very 
life  is  the  completest  proof  that  we  can  get  of  the  power  of  the  human 
mind  to  transcend  nature.  Inexpressible  affection  for  the  qualities  of  all 
natural  things,  joined  with  unbounded  regard  for  the  primal  and  eternal 
order  on  which  the  complex  infinity  of  the  natural  rests,  are  characteristic 

[  in  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing;'  and  Engraving' 

attributes  of  artistic  minds.  Proof  of  such  affection  and  regard  is  given  in 
the  amount  and  sort  of  design  which  an  artist  manages  to  put  into  his 
work,  together  with  the  amount  of  beauty  with  which  he  represents  in 
shorthand,  so  to  speak,  that  infinite  mass  of  detail  which  is  nature.  In 
fine,  design  is  the  mirroring  forth  in  man's  creations  of  his  vision  and  un- 
derstanding of  that  unswerving  order  and  hiw  in  which  nature  and 
humanity  have  their  primal  existence,  and  from  which  they  derive  all  that 
they  possess  of  power  or  beauty.  Design,  in  art,  is  the  human  recogni- 
tion of  the  superhuman  control  of  those  things  and  conditions  which, 
though  everlasting,  are  in  eternal  change.  In  this  sense  design,  which  to 
the  Italians  meant  drawing  in  the  larger  and  inclusive  way,  as  the  sum  of 
pictorial  results  obtainable  with  an  instrument  of  the  pencil  type,  meant 
much  that  composition  does  to  us  at  the  present  day. 

Holbein  was  one  of  the  great  preachers,  as  well  as  greatest  artists,  of 
his  age,  in  that  his  care  was  to  illuminate  the  Scriptures  and  to  impress 
the  necessity  of  decent  living  upon  the  people  of  his  time.  His  cuts  sug- 
gest little  or  no  controversy  about  creeds  and  dogmas.  They  say,  "thus 
Holbein  read,"  and  "thus  he  saw"  in  his  daily  rounds  among  men.  Re- 
member that  the  people  for  whom  he  wrought  could  not,  many  of  them, 
read.  Remember,  too,  that  books  were  expensive  luxuries  for  those  few 
who  could  read. 

In  Holbein's  Bible  cut  for  '  'Daniel's  Vision' '  (Fig.  41)  mark  the  motion 
of  the  waves,  particularly  the  wave  with  a  breaking  crest.     If  you  have 


Fig.  41.      Daniel's  Vision.      Woodcut.      Holbein. 
[  118  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Leyden,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

ever  seen  a  great  wave  of  the  sea  breaking  along  its  edge  you  will  recognize 
the  naked  truthfulness  of  these  half  dozen  black  lines,  as  well  as  their  ab- 
solutely unimitative,  in  the  sense  of  realistic,  quality.  A  perfect  parallel 
to  this  wave,  both  for  truth  and  power,  couched  in  terms  of  monumental 
abstraction,  a  marvel  of  design  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  miracle,  as  express- 
ing the  artist's  comprehension  of  natural  phenomena  on  the  other,  is  the  so- 
called  "Great  Wave"  (Fig.  5)  by  Hokusai.  Of  races  half  the  world  apart, 
and  in  time  separated  by  many  scores  of  years,  these  two  artists  are  ab- 
solutely one  in  those  essentials  which  make  for  artistic  greatness.  Each 
sees  in  the  breaking  wave  what  is  typical  of  all  such  waves  whenever  and 
wherever.  Each  looks  into  the  heart  of  his  subject,  while  in  the  pictur- 
ing, drawing,  engraving  of  that  heart  each  retains  his  own  individuality 
and  thereby  stamps  his  statement  respecting  universal  truth  with  the  seal 
of  individual  personality.  The  ordinary  artist  draws  what  he  can  of  the 
physical  body  of  his  subject  and  therewith  is  moderately  satisfied.  The 
great  artist  does  the  same  thing,  but,  in  addition — upon  this  distinction 
rests  the  whole  difference  between  respectable  and  great  drawing — he  de- 
picts the  heart  of  his  subject.  To  put  it  in  another  way:  through  the 
medium  of  the  outward  and  visible  reality  he  makes  it  possible  for  us  to 
know  the  inward  and  invisible  reality.  In  doing  so  he  proceeds  upon  the 
principle  that  all  art  is  based  on  nature  and  must  keep  faith  to  her.  The 
four  beasts  are  a  faithful  yet  imaginative  illustration  of  the  text  which  the 
keen-minded  and  sincerely  believing  Holbein  wished  to  make  the  wide- 
spread possession  of  an  illiterate  and  priest-ridden  people.  How  utterly 
the  spirit  of  such  a  work  of  art  differs  from  that  of  Raphael,  who,  without 
Holbein's  sincerity  of  purpose,  gave  his  precious  powers  to  painting  a 
group  of  learned  doctors  disputing  about  the  doctrine  of  transubstantia- 
tion  at  a  time  when  Italy  was  growing  daily  more  irreligious  and  corrupt. 
But  in  this  connection  recall  another  work  of  Raphael's,  one  in  which  his 
subject  is  akin  to  Holbein's  "Vision  of  Daniel,"  the  "Vision  of 
Ezechiel. "  On  a  canvas  not  two  feet  square  he  set  down  the  elements 
of  grandeur  and  space  in  a  way  that  made  him  peerless,  and  keeps  him  so. 
And  yet  while  Raphael  did  this  for  a  single  rich  man,  Holbein  accom- 
plished, in  some  respects,  a  similar  act  for  a  whole  race  of  men.  It  is  not 
intended  to  decry  Raphael.  It  would  be  foolish  to  attempt  a  comparison 
of  two  such  men  as  he  and  Holbein.  But  this  fact  is  to  be  emphasized, 
namely,  that  engraving,  and  first  of  all  wood  engraving,  multiplied  draw- 

[  119  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

ing,  put  great  art  within  the  reach  of  the  poor.  Count  Vincent  of  Bo- 
logna could  afford  a  Raphael,  the  "Vision  of  Ezechiel " ;  the  peasant 
might  have  a  print  from  Holbein's  block  of  the  "Vision  of  Daniel." 
What  has  been  said  of  the  wave  in  the  "Daniel's  Vision"  is  almost 
equally  applicable  to  the  raging  sea  and  the  gale  clouds  of  Holbein's  "The 
Skipper"  (Fig.  4*2).  Deathhas  just  come  aboard.  He  grasps  the  snapping 
mast,  snapped  really  by  the  wind,  the  same  power  which  has  rent  the 
sail  to  tatters;  he,  the  invisible,  made  known  to  the  terrified  sailors  by 
these,  the  certain  visible  and  natural  signs  of  their  approaching  dissolu- 


Dft*  Schiffmdtt. 


Fig.  42.      The  Skipper.      Woodcut.      Holbein. 


tion.  In  another  of  this  same  set,  the  "Dance  of  Death"  (Fig.  43),  the 
cut  entitled  "Gradientes  in  superbia" — "Walking  in  Pride" — Holbein 
declares  that  rank  and  riches  are  no  protection  against  death.  He  shows 
Death  taking  a  queen's  arm  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  pointing 
to  an  open  grave  in  the  very  midst  of  her  path,  as,  attended  by  ladies, 
she  crosses  a  public  square.  The  technique  is  as  simple  as  that  of  the 
Daniel  (Fig.  41),  not  a  crosshatching  in  the  entire  subject.  The  lines  are 
firm  and  exceedingly  matter-of-fact,  and  they  are  broad  and  black.  Each 
is  made  to  tell  all  that  it  can,  but  not  one  of  them  is  forced  to  exceed  the 
limitations  prescribed  by  its  inherent  qualities  of  thickness  and  blackness. 

[  120  ] 


Mantegna,  Marcantonio,  Lucas  of  Ley  den,  Dilrer,  Holbein 

What  Holbein  could  accomplish  when  he  worked  with  a  more  pliable 
medium,  red  crayon,  the  whole  world  knows  from  his  Windsor  portraits 
(Fig.  9). 

The  "Dance  of  Death"  series  was  published  in  1588.  There  were 
forty-one  pieces  in  all,  and  each  has  a  text  and  a  verse.  The  book  was 
dedicated  to  Jeanne,  abbess  of  the  convent  of  St.  Peter  at  Lyons,  a  pas- 
sage from  the  dedication  of  which  is  as  remarkable  for  the  true  and  just 
criticism  it  contains  as  for  its  naive  and  ancient  theological  flavor.  "For 
his  sorrowful  histories,  with  their  descriptions  severely  versified,  excite 
such  admiration  in  the  beholders  that  they  think  the  figures  of  Death 
appear  as  if  quite  alive,  and  the  living  as  if  dead.  Which  makes  me  think 
that  Death,  fearing  that  excellent  painter  would  paint  him  so  much  alive 
that  he  should  no  longer  be  feared  as  Death,  and  that  for  this  reason  he 
himself  would  become  immortal ;  for  this  very  cause  hastened  so  much  his 
days  that  he  could  not  finish  several  cuts." 


Fig.  43.      Gradientes  in  Superbia.      Woodcut.      Holbein. 


[  121   ] 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  THEORY  AND  PROCESS  OF  ETCH- 
ING-REMBRANDT, VAN  DYCK 
AND  CLAUDE  LORRAIN 


E 


ITCHING  comes  next  chronologically.  We  will  begin  with  the  tech- 
nical principles  of  the  art,  comparing  them  briefly  with  those  of  the  sister 
arts  of  line  and  wood  engraving.  It  is  not  known  just  when,  or  where, 
or  by  whom  etching  was  invented.  That  it  had  become  a  common  me- 
dium of  artistic  expression  and  was  greatly  valued  in  Holland,  France, 
and  Germany  early  in  the  seventeenth  century  is  a  fact.  The  popularity 
of  the  process  was  due  in  part,  no  doubt,  to  its  ease ;  a  process  which  in- 
volves little  training  of  hand,  or  unusual  strength,  as  compared  with  the 
difficult  and  laborious  mastery  of  the  burin.  In  its  results,  the  actual 
prints  taken  from  etched  metal  plates,  it  is  in  all  respects  the  equal  of 
engraving ;  in  some  regards  superior  to  engraving.  Through  the  medium 
of  etching  many  a  design,  drawing,  be  it  remembered,  of  priceless  worth 
has  been  given  in  considerable  numbers  to  the  world ;  design  or  drawing 
which  had  never  appeared  at  all  if  the  artist  who  conceived  and  drew  it 
had  been  forced  to  publish  it  through  the  difficult  and  expensive  medium 
of  burin  engraving  or  the  coarser  medium  of  wood  engraving. 

Etching  is  the  Anglicized  Dutch  word  etsen,  akin  to  our  "eat." 
Technically  it  means  to  eat  away  or  corrode  with  an  acid.  The  line  which 
in  a  line  engraving  is  ploughed  out  by  pushing  the  burin  over  the  metal 
plate  is,  in  etching,  eaten  out  gradually  by  the  action  of  an  acid ;  usually 
nitric  acid  upon  copper.  Many  different  metals  have  been  employed,  and 
many  acids.     Rembrandt  not  infrequently  used  vinegar,  and  Albert  Diirer 

[  123  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing  and  Engraving 

etched  on  iron.  In  its  simplest  conditions  the  technique  of  etching  is  as 
follows :  A  polished  copper  plate  is  covered  evenly  with  a  very  thin  coat 
of  some  waxlike  compound  called  ground,  or  grounding,  variously  made, 
but  always  possessed  of  two  essential  characteristics.  P^irst,  the  compound 
or  ground  shall  be  soft ;  malleable  enough  to  allow  of  cutting  it  away  with 
very  little  pressure.  In  other  words,  so  soft  that  one  can  draw  with  a 
needle  or  other  sharp  instrument  in  the  wax,  leaving  fine,  clean-edged 
lines.  Second,  the  compound  or  ground  shall  be  impervious  to  the  action 
of  acid.  A  common  way  of  getting  this  impervious,  waxlike  compound 
evenly  spread  on  the  copper  plate  is  to  take  a  small  ball  of  the  ground, 
say  the  size  of  a  walnut,  and  wrap  it  in  a  thin  piece  of  sheer  cloth,  using 
the  edges  of  the  cloth,  drawn  tight  in  the  fingers,  as  a  handle.  In  the 
left  hand  hold  the  copper  plate — nippers  are  ordinarily  used — over  a  small 
flame.  As  the  metal  grows  warm  the  compound,  the  ground,  can  be 
rubbed  over  it,  the  ingredients  melting  through  the  sheer  cloth.  Thus,  a 
thin,  impervious,  waxlike  coat  or  grounding  is  given,  in  even  thickness, 
to  the  surface  of  the  copper.  This  is  the  first  step.  When  successfully 
taken  the  etcher-artist  is  ready  to  begin  his  drawing.  This  is  the  second 
step.  He  may  be  an  original  artist,  or  a  translator,  as  much  in  etching 
as  in  engraving.  With  a  needle — Rembrandt  at  times  used  the  tine  of  a 
fork — with  any  sharp  metal  instrument,  the  artist  draws  his  design  on  or 
in  the  wax  or  ground.  Wherever  he  makes  a  line  he  takes  away  the 
ground  and,  obviously,  bare  or  naked  copper  is  revealed.  Let  us  assume 
that  the  drawing  is  done.  Picture  clearly  what  this  means.  A  design,  a 
drawing,  composed  of  fine  lines  has  been  cut  in  the  thin  coating  or  ground 
and  is  left  showing  as  exposed  copper.  We  are  now  ready  for  the  third 
step  in  the  process.  It  is  known  as  biting;  the  actual  process  of  incising, 
or  furrowing  the  lines  into  the  metal ;  what  is  done  with  the  burin  in  line 
engraving,  and  done,  remember,  with  great  manual  diflficulty.  The  cop- 
per plate  is  immersed  in  a  bath  of  dilute  acid.  This  at  once  begins  to 
bite  into,  corrode,  etch,  really  furrow  out,  the  lines  of  the  design,  which 
are  naked  copper,  remember.  In  other  words,  wherever  the  metal  is  un- 
protected by  the  ground,  wherever  a  line  has  been  drawn  with  the  needle, 
there  the  acid  begins  to  work.  When  the  artist  thinks  that  this  biting, 
the  actual  etching  process,  has  gone  far  enough,  and  thinking  right  upon 
this  subject  is  largely  the  result  of  practical  experience,  he  lifts  the  plate 
out  of  the  bath  and  washes  it  until  he  is  sure  that  no  trace  of  the  acid  re- 

[  124  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

mains,  and  consequently  no  more  biting  can  take  place.  Next  he  cleans 
the  ground  from  his  plate — melting,  in  some  form,  is  the  usual  way — and 
then  he  has  his  polished  copper  surface  into  which  his  drawing,  his  design, 
has  been  furrowed.  In  other  words,  he  has  a  metal  engraving,  the  lines 
of  which,  like  all  lines  in  metal  engravings,  are  incised  lines.  Thus,  with 
ease,  by  means  of  an  acid  he  gets  what  the  line  engraver  with  the  burin 
can  attain  only  with  extreme  difficulty.  The  next  and  final  step  is  print- 
ing the  plate.  This  differs  in  no  wise  from  the  printing  of  any  other 
engraved  plate. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  the  inventor  of  etching  greatly  widened  the 
horizon  of  artistic  technique.  He  made  highly  desirable  things,  metal 
prints,  easy  of  manufacture,  and  hence  comparatively  inexpensive.  The 
process  is  far  easier  than  that  of  wood  engraving,  simple  as  that  is  com- 
pared to  burin  engraving.  Further,  the  design  on  copper  can  be  more 
delicate  than  the  design  on  wood,  the  inherent  nature  of  the  material  and 
tools  making  this  both  legitimate  and  possible.  This  means  that  finer  lines 
and  more  delicate  chiaroscuro  are  within  the  artist's  easy  reach.  Finally, 
the  copper  plate  itself  is  more  durable  than  the  wood  block.  This  means 
that  more  impressions  can  be  taken. 

Let  us  return  for  a  little  to  the  actual  process  of  making  an  etching. 
I^et  us  assume  that  the  etched  plate  is  in  the  condition  that  has  been  de- 
scribed after  the  biting  process.  The  artist  will  now  prove  his  work. 
This  means  he  will  have  a  print  taken  from  the  plate,  so  that  he  may  see 
how  his  work  looks  on  paper ;  see  if  he  approves  of  it  or  if  he  finds  changes, 
additions,  or  erasures,  which  can  be  made  to  advantage.  Thus  this  first 
proving  print  is  a  * 'proof."  The  same,  of  course,  is  done  with  burin  en- 
graving and  with  wood.  In  the  first  proof  of  the  head  by  Manesse'  (Fig.  44) 
see,  as  he  must  have  seen,  that  while  the  lines  are  full  of  character  and 
highly  expressive,  the  thing,  looked  on  as  a  picture,  a  portrait,  is  incomplete. 
It  lacks  that  intimate  connection  of  the  parts  which  results  in  a  whole, 
and  it  lacks  definition,  not  to  say  clearness  within  the  parts.  As  a  draw- 
ing it  is  vague.  Such  is  our  opinion  of  the  first  proof,  and  such,  no 
doubt,  was  the  artist's.  As  painters  say,  the  work  in  this  state  is  not 
"convincing,"  meaning  that  the  x)icture  lacks  those  qualities  which  give 
the  coveted  look  of  verisimilitude.  This  can  be  had  by  the  addition  of 
more  lines;    lines  of  definition,  especially  above  the  eyes,   and  lines  of 

^  "  Drawing  and  Engraving,"  by  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton.     London,  1892. 

[  125  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 


111 


Fig.  44.      Etching  by  Manesse. 


shade  and  shadow,  especially  on  and  beneath  the  ruff.  The  artist  now 
takes  another  step  in  his  technical  process — Manesse  took  another — but 
one  which  involves  no  new  principle.  All  of  principle  that  underlies  the 
art  of  etching  on  the  purely  technical  side  has  been  recorded.  The  artist 
covers  those  lines  on  his  plate  which  he  does  not  wish  deepened,  or 
strengthened,  with  a  compound  that  possesses  the  two  characteristics 
which  are  essential  to  the  etching  ground  as  already  described.  This  com- 
pound is  called  stopping-out  varnish.  The  lines  thus  stopped  out  are  ren- 
dered secure  against  further  biting.     Those  not  so  stopped  out  are  subject 

[  126  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

to  further  biting.  The  plate  is  then  replaced  in  the  acid  bath.  After 
sufficient  time  has  elapsed,  it  is  again  lifted,  washed,  and  cleaned.  At 
this  point  we  are  ready  for  a  second  proof.  Of  Manesse's  head  we  have 
this  in  No.  2,  evidently  a  more  satisfactory  production  than  No.  1,  the 
first  proof.  In  other  words,  we  have  the  second  proof.  But  improve- 
ments are  still  possible.  So  the  artist  again  stops  out  some,  and  further 
bites  other  parts  of  his  plate  to  get  greater  depth  of  shade  and  shadow 
where  he  desires  them. 

When  he  feels  that  he  has  carried  the  real  etching  process,  the  actual 
biting,  to  its  utmost,  he  is  likely  to  add  some  finishing  work,  light 
touches,  delicate  and  shallow  scratches  made  on  the  copper  with  an  ex- 
ceedingly fine  point.  These  lines,  of  course,  add  to  the  final  form  of  the 
plate.  Such  work,  because  it  is  done  on  the  plate,  dry,  i.e.,  when  the 
plate  is  no  longer  to  be  wet  with  another  acid  bath,  and  because  it  is 
added  with  a  point, — such  work  is  called  "dry  point,"  or  "dry  point 
etching." 

At  this  juncture  the  plate,  as  complete  as  is  in  the  })ower  of  the  artist 
to  make  it,  is  ready  for  printing  in  numbers,  and  being  given  to  the  pub- 
lic; to  be  "published."  No.  3  is  a  print  of  the  condition,  or  state,  of 
the  finished  plate.  This  "first  state,"  as  it  is  called,  should  signify,  though 
it  does  not  always  do  so,  a  print  from  the  plate  after  it  is  perfectly  satis- 
factory to  the  artist,  and  before  it  has  begun  to  wear,  as  in  time  it  must, 
going  through  the  press;  es])ecially  if  the  metal  be  a  soft  one,  such  as 
copper,  and  be  not  plated  with  a  harder  metal  for  protection,  as  has  of  late 
years  become  customary.  No  more  need  here  be  said  of  proofs  and 
states,  published  or  unpublished,  "before  letters"  or  "after,"  "open- 
lettered"  or  "closed."  They  constitute  an  important  subject,  both 
artistically  and  commerciallj%  but  a  subject  that  is  not  really,  in  any  essen- 
tial way,  connected  with  the  art  of  etching  or  the  art  of  engraving,  looked 
at  from  our  present  standpoint.  It  is  a  matter  thoroughly  treated  of  in 
any  technical  work  on  engraving  and  etching,  and  in  most  histories  of 
these  subjects. 

The  respective  characteristics  of  burin  or  graver  lines  and  of  etched 
lines  must  be  considered ;  fifst,  as  they  appear  on  the  metal  plate ;  then  as 
they  look  in  the  print.  Fig.  45  W////)7W/f  shows  a  metal  plate,  cross  sec- 
tion, with  the  depression  or  furrow  made  by  the  burin ;  the  graver-made  line. 
It  is  clear-cut  on  the  edges  and  of  the  shape  of  the  instrument  with  which 

[  127  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

it  was  cut  or  ploughed.  It  is  a  V-shaped  hne.  Deep  or  shallow,  it  is 
clean-cut.  On  these  qualities  depend  the  wonderful  clearness  and  definite- 
ness  of  the  lines  in  first-rate  engravings  or  line  prints.  They  are,  too, 
the  very  qualities  which  give  that  hard,  overaccurate  and  cold  character 
to  many  "line  engravings,"  so-called;  character  which  justifies  their  be- 
ing regarded  as  exercises  in  the  frigid.  For  early  engravers,  and  for  men 
of  the  great  calibre  of  Diirer  and  Marcantonio,  whose  work  aimed  at  ab- 
solute perfection  of  outline,  with,  as  a  rule,  a  comparatively  meagre  gamut 
of  tones,  the  burin  line  answered  every  need.  Fig.  4G  ^  shows  the 
section  of  a  printed,  graver  or  burin  line;  the  actual  ink  line  upon  the  paper. 
It  is,  of  course,  the  reverse  of  the  metal  line  or  incision  which  held  the  ink 
for  printing.  One  other  point  calls  for  notice  in  this  connection.  The 
engraved  line  always  has  a  more  or  less  remarkable  degree  of  continuity. 
In  other  words,  its  course  is  comparatively  steady,  and  of  a  flowing  or 
sweeping  nature.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  burin  is  pushed,  and 
its  "nose"  is  kept,  comparatively  speaking,  deep  in  the  plate.  The  pres- 
sure required  to  keep  it  so  makes  it  relatively  easier  to  guide.  It  is  nat- 
ural, moreover,  that  the  pressure  to  start  with  should  be  light  and  again 
grow  light  as  the  end  of  the  line  is  approached.  Thus  we  find  that  en- 
graved lines  very  commonly  taper  at  the  ends  because,  on  the  plate,  they 
are  shallow  and  thin  at  the  ends,  growing  deeper  and  wider,  and  remain- 
ing so,  in  the  bulk  of  their  length,  with  the  result  that  they  are  light  and 
narrow  at  the  ends  while  heavy  and  black  in  the  bulk  of  their  printed 

length,  as  shown  in  Fig.  47    .      Such  necessary  conditions  tend 

towards  a  mechanical  sort  of  recurrent  accuracy  which  often,  in  steel 
engravings,  results  in  stupid  mannerisms  and  insipid  translation  of  great 
painting.  It  was  just  this  that  Diirer  and  Mantegna  escaped  and  Marcanto- 
nio, to  a  great  extent,  but  later  in  his  life  more  rarely.  Their  own  genius 
or,  if  copying,  as  with  Marcantonio,  the  genius  of  a  master  was  never  dimmed 
by  labored  or  affected  technique.  In  other  words,  they  never  forgot  the 
thing  they  were  doing  in  the  thought  of  how  they  were  doing  it ;  a  state 
of  mind  that  later  on  made  deadly  so  much  engraving  which,  for  tech- 
nique alone,  is  beyond  doubt  wonderful,  but  as  the  conveyancer  of 
thoughts  or  the  arrester  and  vehicle  of  inspired  or  inspiring  moments  in 
the  life  of  nature,  or  the  life  of  man,  is  worse  than  useless  and  becomes 
little  less  than  a  mockery  to  those  who  feel  deeply,  see  clearly,  think 
justly,  and  imagine  nobly.      We  are  all  acquainted  with  engravings  of 

[  128  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

this  sort  and  not  many  of  us  care  for  them.  It  is  an  instance  in  which 
natural  taste  is  artistic  salvation.  Cultivation  of  mind,  and  taste,  too, 
comes  with  our  studied  effort  to  explain  our  dislikes  as  well  as  our  likes. 
But  we  should  not  imagine  that  no  room  is  to  be  allowed  for  the  personal 
equation  in  such  connections.  Again  and  again,  however,  it  is  certain 
that  the  personal  equation  will  be  found  to  be  little  more  than  a  senti- 
ment, and  that  we  think  we  care  for  a  picture  because  of  intrinsic  merit 
when,  in  reality,  the  real  cause  lies  in  some  external  sentiment  connected 
with  the  picture.  We  need  have  no  quarrel  with  sentiment  only  as  we 
mistake  it  for  something  else,  and  so  fool  ourselves,  which  always  implies 
the  longest  remove  possible  from  true  culture. 

Look  now  at  the  etched  line  in  cross  section  on  the  plate  itself.  Fig.  48 
TSUMMIMIk.  and  printed  on  paper.  Fig.  49  — ^ — =( .  These  drawings  are  not 
made  to  scale,  and  so  do  not  show  the  fact  that  the  etched  line  is  often  less 
deep  than  the  engraved.  As  a  rule  it  is  so,  although  there  may  be,  and  are, 
exceptions.  The  drawing  shows  clearly  the  round  section  characteristic  of 
the  etched  line  as  utterly  different  from  the  angular  section  characteristic  of 
the  engraved  line.  The  roundness  is  due  to  the  corroding  effect  of  the 
acid  on  the  copper,  the  acid,  of  course,  eating  in  at  the  sides  as  soon  as  it 
has  eaten  deep  enough  for  the  line  to  have  sides.  Neither  has  the  etched 
line  that  clean-cut,  sharp  edge  which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  engraved 
line.  Further,  it  usually  lacks  the  steady,  even,  onward  flow  of  the 
graver  line,  being  drawn  with  a  point  which  only  touches  the  surface  of 
the  metal,  hence  moves  with  more  or  less  natural  unsteadiness  and  re- 
sultant charm,  as  compared  with  the  graver,  which,  as  has  been  shown, 
often  gets  an  unattractive  steadiness  and  highly  mechanical  character  from 
the  very  fact  that  its  nose  is  kept  bedded  in  the  plate.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  there  is  some  analogy  in  the  likeness  of  a  line  drawn  with  a  hard  lead 
on  Bristol  board  and  the  engraved  line;  some  analogy  between  the  line 
drawn  with  a  soft  lead  on  a  fine  grade  of  Whatman  paper  and  the  etched 
line.  The  etcher  holds  his  needle  as  he  holds  his  pencil.  This  results  in 
a  certain  amount  of  tremulousness  of  touch.  This  far  more  than  compen- 
sates for  any  loss  of  evenness,  by  the  greater  freedom  of  movement  which 
makes  possible  so  many  varieties  and  such  varied  direction  of  line.  In 
the  greater  freedom  of  possible  effects,  producible  by  the  greater  possible 
variety  of  touch  and  line,  the  etcher  found  his  advantage  over  the  en- 
graver.    In  the  ease  of  the  process  he  found  a  new  and  direct  means  for 

[  129  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

permanent  recording  of  fact  and  meaning  of  fact,  as  such  made  their  appeal 
to  him.  No  more  elastic  medium  of  artistic  expression  has  ever  been  dis- 
covered. It  is  no  wonder  that  so  many  of  the  very  greatest  men,  from 
Rembrandt  and  Claude  to  Turner  and  Whistler,  have  gladly  embraced 
it  and,  in  it,  added  to  the  old  world  of  nature  a  new  world  of  art;  a 
world,  too,  of  easily  multiplied  drawing. 

It  has  been  shown  how  and  why  the  graver  line  tapers.  The  typical 
etched  line,  printed,  does  not  taper  as  a  rule,  though  it  may.      Fig.  50 

•  shows  its  characteristic  form.     This  is  so  because  the  needle  will 

remove  as  much  of  the  etching  ground  at  the  first  as  at  the  last  touch. 
Etched  lines  can  be  made  to  taper,  widen  and  diminish  throughout  their 
length  at  the  will  of  the  artist.  This  is  done  by  turning  the  needle  so  that  it 
will  take  off  more  or  less  ground  as  it  moves  over  the  copper.  In  pass- 
ing, notice  Fig.  51  WiHIIU'iIl  •  It  shows  the  raised  line  of  a  wood-engraved 
plate,  a  wood  block.  It  has  something  of  the  character  of  the  typical  etched 
line  when  printed,  i.e.,  even  width  throughout  its  length.  Finally,  before 
taking  up  the  subject  of  etched  prints,  etchings,  we  must  know  that  en- 
graving is  often  added  to  etching;  that  both  often  appear  on  the  same 
plate  and,  hence,  in  the  same  print,  an  etched  line  being  retouched,  or 
deepened,  or  smoothed,  with  the  burin.  In  fact,  etching  often  has,  and 
yet  does,  serve  as  a  foundation  for  the  graver,  i.e.,  as  a  matter  of  time 
and  labor  saving.  The  respective  character  of  the  two  sorts  of  line  is  so 
different,  however,  that  they  cannot  be  put  together  on  the  same  plate 
without  producing  a  more  or  less  disjointed  effect,  which  may  be,  and  often 
is,  very  adroitly  concealed.  This  is  shown  by  some  of  the  famous  trans- 
lator engravings  of  Baron  Desnoyers,  and  in  the  work  of  many  men  of 
much  less  reputation.  Finally,  a  great  deal  which  passes  for  line  engrav- 
ing, and  has  for  years,  is  pure  etching.  Many  of  the  so-called  engravings 
after  Turner,  are  etchings. 

Line  engraving  has  been  practiced  little  by  artists  of  the  first  rank, 
and  much  by  artists  and  craftsmen  of  inferior  qualities,  poor  copyists  play- 
ing the  role  of  commonplace  translators.  The  majority  of  line  engravings 
wdth  which  we  are  familiar  contain  little  that  is  notable  in  the  w^ay  of 
translation  and  almost  nothing  that  is  original.  We  have  come  to  care 
nothing  for  our  engravings,  often  rightly,  though  we  do  not  sufficiently 
distinguish  the  good  from  the  bad.     Hence  the  technically  fine  Landseers, 

[  130  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

the  highly  respectable  "Auroras"  by  Raphael  Morghen,  and  the  "Sistine 
Madonnas"  and  "Belle  Jardinieres"  by  Steinla  and  Desnoyers,  to- 
gether with  the  silly  "Voyages  of  Life,"  the  insipid  "Floras,"  deathbed 
scenes  of  Daniel  Webster,  and  companies  of  authors,  "Irving  and  His 
Friends,"  have,  all  together,  found  their  way  into  upper  rooms  and  garrets. 
It  is,  however,  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  reproductive  engraving  is, 
as  some  maintain,  a  contemptible  art,  for  it  is  by  no  means  such.  Ac- 
quaintance with  the  masterly  work  of  the  French  seventeenth-century 
portrait  engrav^ers,  the  reproductive  engravers  of  the  school  of  Rubens, 
and  those  wonderful  men  who  in  the  nineteenth  century  gave  their  unique 
abilities  to  translating  the  landscapes  of  Turner  into  black  and  white — the 
exquisite  illustrations  to  the  "Poems"  and  the  "Italy"  of  Samuel 
Rogers,  or  such  a  series  as  Turner's  "Rivers  of  France" — acquaintance 
with  these  things,  and  many  similar  to  them,  will  soon  disabuse  an  open 
and  beauty-loving  mind  of  the  notion  that  reproductive  engraving  is  of 
necessity  an  inferior  art.  The  hitherto  unpublished  "Fame  Island," 
plate  by  Willmore  after  Turner,  the  frontispiece  of  this  book,  bears  testi- 
mony to  the  assertion.  It  remains  true,  none  the  less,  that  the  work  of 
the  great  painter-gravers  and  painter-etchers  is  incomparably  finer. 

The  consummate  etcher  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  of  all  cen- 
turies, is  Rembrandt.  His  influence  upon  etching  was  even  greater  than 
Raphael's  upon  line  engraving,  because  he  constantly  etched  his  own  de- 
signs. His  etchings  are  his  drawings.  His  etched  work  displays  the 
finest  qualities  of  which  the  art  is  capable.  Rembrandt  was  the  son  of  a 
miller  and  his  home  was  near  Leyden,  on  the  Rhine,  hence  his  name 
Rijn.  He  was  born  in  1606.  This  man's  preeminent  power  as  an  artist 
lay  in  his  wonderful  control  of  light  and  shade;  control  or  mastery  which 
has  led  many  people  to  think  that  he  sacrificed  the  loveliness  and  truth  of 
color  to  his  passion  for  appearances  of  solidity  which  is  got  by  light  and 
shade.  Such  people  are  not  familiar  with  Rembrandt's  best  painting,  or, 
if  they  are,  have  allowed  the  claptrap  of  guide  books  and  popular  criticism 
to  blind  them  to  facts.  He  painted  dark,  it  is  true.  That  he  was  a 
chiaroscurist  is  true.  But  at  his  best,  which  was  his  ordinary  and  usual, 
he  filtered  pure  color  into  the  depths  of  his  deepest  shadows  and  most 
hidden  recesses,  until  he  made  "darkness  visible"  with  its  own  light  and 
color.  His  darkness  sparkles  more  than  most  men's  light,  and  his  light, 
witness   "The  Night  Watch,"  blazes.     Rembrandt's  luminous  shadow, 

[  131  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

color  amid  gloom,  and  lifjfht  in  darkness,  all  seen  as  mere  blackness  by  or- 
dinary men,  was  so  copied  by  them  in  the  hope  that  they,  too,  might 
gain  popularity  and  fame.  The  faults  of  a  very  great  painter  often  work 
deadly  hurt  to  the  painters  of  his  time  who  can,  being  but  ordinary,  fol- 
low his  faults  alone.  It  was  so  with  Rembrandt.  It  was  so  with  Michel- 
angelo. And  this  is  why  even  the  great  museums,  not  to  mention  in- 
numerable rich  private  collections,  are  so  well  supplied  with  second-rate 
Rembrandts;  the  most  inferior,  perhaps,  of  all  second-rate  masterpieces, 
nine  out  of  ten  of  them  copies,  forged  or  not  matters  not. 

But  with  his  etchings  it  is  different.  In  these  he  had  no  call  to  use 
color  and  hence  does  not  conceal  it  even  from  those  dull  eyes  that  cannot  dis- 
cern it  amidst  his  painted  light  and  shade.  By  light  and  shade  he  often  gives 
reality,  quite  beyond  what  is  commonly  taken  for  real,  to  the  known  as- 
pects of  the  face  of  man  and  nature.  And  all  this  was  within  the  compass 
of  the  etcher's  art;  art  that  is  so  easy  to  practice;  so  direct;  so  suited  to 
the  rendering  of  chiaroscuro  in  broad  masses  as  it  veils  or  discovers  the  de- 
tails and  wonders  of  nature,  or  the  expression  and  meaning  in  faces.  He 
was  Carlyle's  "gifted  man,"  the  one  who  sees  the  essential  point  and  leaves 
all  the  rest  aside  as  surplusage;  discerner  of  "the  true  likeness,  not  the  false 
superficial  one."  If  ever  in  art  the  essential  was  grasped  and  the  irrele- 
vant cast  out,  it  is  so  in  the  etchings  of  Rembrandt.  If  ever  a  medium  of 
expression  was  suited  to  such  a  mode  of  procedure  it  was  Rembrandt's 
etching,  into  which  the  dry  point  often  entered;  etchings  that  have  "the 
effect  of  pictures  rather  than  of  engravings."  Pictures,  it  should  be 
added,  which  make  us  think  of  much  more  than  they  show  us,  while 
they  rivet  our  attention  upon  what  they  do  show  us.  This  is  an  approx- 
imate definition  of  a  really  great  picture.  This  little  head  (Fig.  52),  a  minor 
work,  if  by  Rembrandt  at. all,  shows  marvelous  precision  and  economy 
of  line ;  no  stroke  of  the  etching  needle  wasted  even  though  such  strokes 
are  easy  to  make.  How  accurate,  yet  free,  is  the  suggestion  of  the 
curves  and  waves  of  hair,  without  the  least  attempt  to  imitate  the  impos- 
sible multiplicity  of  hairs;  hair  drawn  as  in  Holbein's  red-chalk  Windsor 
portraits;  a  sketch,  this,  and  not  a  finished  drawing  as  they  are,  yet 
absolutely  right  so  far  as  it  goes.  It  has  all  the  precious  qualities  of  a 
great  ^ drawing.  It  is  a  work  of  pure  etching;  one  into  which  no  dry 
point  has  been  admitted  and,  as  such,  characteristic  of  his  earlier  style. 
The  next  is  Rembrandt's  "Landscape  with  a  Ruined  Tower"  (Fig.  53),  a 

[  132  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 


Fig.  52.      Etching  by  Unknown  Artist.      Sometimes  attributed  to  Rembrandt. 

work  of  art  beyond  praise  and  above  competition  in  its  massive  breadth  and 
sustained  unity  of  effect.      It  is  not  exquisite.      It  was  not  meant  to  be  so. 


Fig.  53.      Etching,  Square  Tower.      Rembrandt 
[  133  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

It  is  robust.  It  is  homely.  It  is  as  far  from  all  things  classical  as  its 
Dutch  thatched  cottages  are  from  the  Parthenon.  It  is  like  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  as  Tennyson  described  him,  "in  simplicity  sublime. "  It  is 
one  of  those  things  in  which  the  eye  sees  what  it  brings  with  it  the  power 
of  seeing ;  as  in  Beethoven,  or  Bach,  the  ear  hears  what  it  brings  with  it 
the  power  of  hearing;  as  in  Hamlet  or  the  Merchant,  the  heart  feels 
what  the  heart  brings  with  it  the  power  to  feel.  Wretched  the  lot  of  the 
man  who,  in  such  works,  can  hear  only  the  struck  notes,  or  feel  only  the 
outward  movements  of  the  play,  or  see  only  the  meshed  lines.  As  a 
drawing  this  etched  landscape  is  a  work  of  consummate  art.  As  an  ob- 
ject of  art  it  is  of  the  things  which  have  a  fixed  market  minimum  and  a 
fixed  value  exceeding  all  market  prices  in  the  appreciation  of  discriminat- 
ing men.  It  has  been  called  the  "last  word"  in  landscape  art.  This 
cannot  be  accepted,  but  if,  for  landscape  art,  there  shall  ever  be  "seven 
last  words"  it  may  well  be  one  of  them.  About  the  name  of  the  man  who 
etched  it  there  is,  as  Ruskin  said  of  Titian,  the  acknowledgment  of  all 
great  men  that  he  is  greater  than  they.  If  we  can  see  nothing  in  such 
work;  if  we  can  hear  nothing  in  Beethoven  or  Bach;  if  we  can  find 
nothing  in  the  Merchant  or  Hamlet — judging  by  the  characters  and 
reputation  of  the  men  who  have  seen  much,  heard  much,  and  found 
much  through  many  generations — we  shall  be  forced  to  acknowledge  the 
fault  our  own,  and,  to  say  the  least,  it  is  far  from  flattering  to  have  to 
acknowledge  to  oneself  that  he  has  not  part  or  holding,  of  any  sort,  in 
those  things  which  the  intelligent  world  has  held  vastly  precious  and 
found  delight  in  for  a  long  time. 

The  "Death  of  the  Virgin"  is  among  the  most  remarkable,  as 
well  as  most  characteristic  of  Rembrandt's  scriptural  groups.  It  is  one 
of  the  great  things  of  Christian  art.  In  it  that  breadth  which  means  the 
suppression  rather  than  the  omission  of  details,  is  seen  at  its  best.  The 
atmosphere  is  almost  pompous.  At  times  it  almost  seems  as  if  the  dig- 
nity of  the  subject  has  passed  over  into  unconscious  caricature.  It  is  one 
of  Rembrandt's  etchings  to  be  admired  in  the  sense  of  marveled  at,  but 
not  one  which  generally  commands  deep  affection.  Not  so  his  landscape 
called  "The  Three  Trees"  (Fig.  54),  dating  from  1643.  Here  we  have  the 
master  at  his  best  as  depicting  the  overwhelming  sense  of  the  vastness  of 
out-of-doors ;  the  great  height  of  the  as  yet  unclouded  sky,  clear  at  the 
right;   the  heavy,  oncoming  shower  clouds  at  the  left,  with  the  black 

[  134  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 


Fig.  54.      The  Three  Trees.      Etching  by  Rembrandt. 


slanting  lines  of  the  rain  which  seem  to  stream  down  from  the  very  zenith ; 
the  foreground  pool  not  yet  wholly  overshadowed ;  the  plain  cut  up  into 
numberless  fields  and  dying,  far  off  upon  the  horizon,  into  a  distant  town; 
bigness  everywhere,  solid  reality  and  fine  detail  fused  into  a  little  whole 
of  intensest  truth,  raised  above  common  retrospect  by  the  power  of  art. 
Every  line  of  this  marvelous  transcript  of  nature  is  a  line  of  Rembrandt's 
own  drawing ;  every  touch  upon  the  copper  is  the  outpouring  of  his  awe 
and  affection  for  his  chosen  subject  direct  from  his  needle's  point.  It  is 
one  of  those  consummate  works  in  which  reality  and  imagination,  fact 
and  interpretative  vision  have  completely  merged ;  in  a  word,  the  literal 
and  the  poetic  become  one,  as  they  do  always  in  every  work  of  supreme 
art.  Nor  should  such  consideration  keep  us  from  discovering  afresh,  with 
ever  increasing  delight,  the  placing  of  each  line  in  relation  to  its  neighbor ; 

[  135  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

a  matter  of  patterning  as  it  were,  wrouf^ht  out  toucli  by  touch,  for  pure 
joy  of  doing,  con  amove.  And  those  three  rugged,  wind-blown  trees 
which  give  this  print  its  name  are  tree  portraits  in  the  sense  that  Rem- 
brandt has  managed  to  seize  not  only  their  living  likeness,  but  also  that 
unique  and  particular  aspect  of  each  individual  which  nature  never  re- 
peats. This  is  portraiture.  It  matters  not  if  it  be  of  the  face  of  nature 
or  the  face  of  man.  And  in  such  portraiture,  here,  and  in  whatever  other 
instance,  if  it  be  great,  we  always  have,  and  must  have,  the  mind  as  well 
as  the  body  portrayed.  Rembrandt  saw,  as  Wordsworth  saw,  the  facts 
of  nature  to  be 

"Types  and  symbols  of  Eternity, 
Of  first  and  last  and  midst  and  without  end," 

and  so  he  drew  them.  Hence  the  ever  increasing  fame  and  the  undying 
influence  of  his  works;  of  such  a  work  as  his  "Three  Trees." 

A  more  characteristic  piece  of  Rembrandt's  etched  landscape,  more 
characteristic  in  that  the  sky  is  unworked,  whereas  in  the  "Three  Trees" 
it  is  elaborately  worked,  is  the  so-called  "Gold-weigher's  Field"  (Fig.  7). 
The  same  high  sky  and  far  horizon  mark  this  famous  little  picture  as 
they  do  the  "Three  Trees,"  but  the  simplicity  of  method  in  this  is  not 
less  a  characteristic  of  Rembrandt  than  the  complexity  of  method  in  the 
other.  Here  we  see  what  genius  can  make  of  a  commonplace  bit  of  rural 
landscape,  touching  it  throughout  with  that  wonder  glow  which  is  the 
"enchanted  boon  of  art."  And  again,  here,  as  everywhere  and  always 
in  Rembrandt's  etchings,  are  the  signs  of  his  unbounded  satisfaction  in 
line  as  such,  and  his  unsurpassed  capacity  for  making  lines  tell  more  than 
they  actually  depict,  which  is,  in  fine,  the  definition  of  a  real  artist- 
draughtsman. 

One  source  of  beautiful  effect  possible  to  etching  and  much  valued 
by  Rembrandt  was  what  is  known  as  burr.  This  means  the  minute  bank 
or  dike  which  is  left  upon  either  side  of  the  incision  where  the  needle,  the 
dry  point,  is  drawn  across  the  plate.  In  printing,  these  minute  banks  or 
dikes  hold  a  little  ink  and  this,  as  the  paper  is  pressed  down  upon  the 
plate  in  the  process  of  printing,  gives  to  the  surface  of  the  print  a  certain 
velvety  depth  of  tone  which  is  very  rich.  With  burr  it  is  possible  to  get 
such  depths  of  chiaroscuro  as  can  be  had  in  no  other  way.      On  the  other 

[  136  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

hand,  as  the  burr  is  so  sHght  it  takes  but  few  printings  to  entirely  destroy 
it.  This  is  the  case  with  all  but  the  very  early,  and  now  extremely  rare 
plates  of  Rembrandt's  etching.  When  the  burr  is  gone,  the  deeper 
etched  lines  remain,  and  it  is  from  the  plates  in  this  condition  that  most 
of  the  etchings  have  been  printed,  naturally.  The  effect  of  burr  is  really 
that  of  a  veil  of  chiaroscuro  added  to  the  etching  beneath,  an  effect,  as 
Rembrandt  used  it  in  his  best  portraits,  and  in  such  magnificent  works  as 
the  so-called  "Large  Crucifixion,"  "The  Three  Crosses,"  and  as  Turner, 
nearly  two  centuries  later,  used  it  in  his  "Liber  Studiorum,"  beyond 
praise  and  almost  beyond  credence,  even  when  the  eyes  are  fixed  upon 
it.  Because  it  will  not  reproduce  satisfactorily,  and  because  it  does  not 
pertain  directly  to  line  drawing,  the  subject  of  this  book,  in  its  relations 
to  engraving,  no  effort  has  been  made  to  show  others  of  Rembrandt's 
etchings  than  those  produced  wholly,  or  for  the  most  part,  by  the  use  of 
pure  line,  together  with  hatched  line  shading.  More,  finally,  of  the  truth 
about  Rembrandt  is  to  be  found  in  a  few  lines  of  Mr.  A.  M.  Hind 
than  is  usually  contained  in  whole  pages  on  this  artist.  "But  in  the 
range  of  his  genius  Rembrandt  still  stands  alone.  I^et  him  handle  the 
most  momentous  scene  from  scripture,  a  landscape,  a  piece  of  genre,  the 
slightest  study  of  still  life — all  alike  are  illuminated  by  a  power  which 
never  fails  to  pierce  to  the  heart  of  things."  Such,  truly,  was  this  pre- 
eminent draughtsman,  artist-etcher. 

A  single  man  stands  beside  Rembrandt,  and  he  in  but  a  single  branch 
of  the  art  of  their  great  time.  Van  Dyck,  master  of  human  portraiture. 
This  splendid  painter  conceived  the  idea  of  making  a  series  of  portraits  of 
the  famous  men  of  his  day,  and,  further,  the  plan  of  publishing  these  por- 
traits in  the  medium  of  etching,  which  he  felt  that  he  could  manage  with 
his  own  hand  because  of  the  ease  of  technique.  However,  the  public 
which  was  used  to  the  ultra-exquisite  work  in  line,  the  burin  engraving 
done  by  a  school  of  engravers  inspired  and  supported  by  Rubens  as  Marc- 
antonio  and  his  school  had  been  by  Raphael,  did  not  care  for  the — simple, 
direct,  and  crude,  his  public  thought  them — etchings  of  Van  Dyck.  And 
Van  Dyck,  the  adored  of  fashion  and  a  profound  respecter  of  worldly 
success,  seeing  that  his  etchings  were  not  really  popular,  soon  gave  over 
the  idea,  leaving  his  superb  canvases  to  be  reproduced  in  the  aforesaid  ultra- 
exquisite  line  engraving  of  Rubens's  all-fashionable  school.  But  from 
Van  Dyck's  own  hand,  holding  the  needle,  we  have  eighteen  etched  por- 

[  137  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

traits' — five,  every  touch  etclied  by  the  master  himself;  six,  entirely  so 
etched,  but  with  a  graver  background  added  later;  seven,  partly  en- 
graved, and  finished  by  some  hand  other  than  Van  Dyck's.  The  Van 
Dyck  portrait  of  Lucas  Vorsterman  (Fig.  55),  one  of  the  greatest  of 
translator-engravers,  and  probably  the  chief  member  of  the  school  that  we 


Fig.  55.      Lucas  Vorsterman.      Etching  by  Van  Dyck. 


^Van  Dyck's  are  "among  the  most  masterly  plates  produced  in  the  whole  history  of  portrait  etch- 
ing. In  fact,  in  spite  of  the  limitations  of  his  practice  of  the  art.  Van  Dyck  has  no  rival  as  an  etcher  of 
portraits  except  Rembrandt."  "Van  Dyck,"  by  A.  M.  Hind.  The  Print  Collectors  Qxiarterly,  Feb- 
ruary, 1915. 


[  138  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

have  just  said  was  founded  by  Rubens  and  supported  by  engraving  his  works, 
is  a  model  of  what  the  best  of  such  things  can  be.  Economy  and  pre- 
cision of  touch  equal  to  what  is  seen  here  have  not  been  attained  since, 
except  by  Whistler,  and  by  him  but  rarely.  Concentration  of  thought 
is  an  expressive  phrase  for  describing  this  wonderful  portrait ;  and  not  less 
so  is  unity  of  intellectual  intent.  Before  Van  Dyck  portrait  etching 
was  scarcely  known,  and,  since  Van  Dyck,  has  never  been  better  done, 
and,  as  well,  only  at  the  hands  of  a  very  few  men ;  Rembrandt  chiefly, 
and  Whistler,  constituting  the  bulk  of  these  exceptions.  If  ever  work 
deserved  to  be  called  brilliant,  this  portrait  does.  On  the  other  hand,  no 
work,  not  even  Rembrandt's  most  highly  finished  portrait,  was  ever 
sounder.  Van  Dyck's  simplicity  of  method  is  as  astounding  as  Rem- 
brandt's complexity.  Before  us  sits  the  man,  Lucas  Vorsterman  himself, 
and,  in  the  way  that  he  is  set  before  us,  we  have  the  most  evident  asser- 
tion of  the  peculiar  and  individual  character  of  Van  Dyck  himself.  If 
ever  there  was  a  work  of  style  in  the  sense  "style  is  of  the  man  himself," 
we  have  it  here.  Lucas  Vorsterman  lives  before  our  eyes,  and  in  him,  as 
he  here  appears.  Van  Dyck  lives.  It  is  here  as  it  is  in  Rembrandt's 
portrait  of  his  mother,  or  in  that  tremendous  portrait  of  Coppernol,  the 
writing  master,  for  a  good  impression  of  which  a  small  fortune  is  not  a 
large  price;  it  is  here,  as  it  is  in  all  great  art,  the  etcher's  included,  the 
artist  is  the  man  who  has  the  power,  as  has  been  insisted  on  more  than 
once  in  these  pages,  to  see  to  the  very  heart  of  his  subject,  joined  by  the 
further  power  of  compelling  his  chosen  medium  to  say  what  he  sees,  and 
what  he  thinks  about  what  he  sees.  It  is  by  coming  to  know  such  por- 
traits as  the  best  of  Rembrandt  and  Van  Dyck ;  by  learning  to  appreciate 
such  a  portrait  as  Van  Dyck's  of  Lucas  Vorsterman,  that  one  comes  to 
understand  the  profound  significance  of  Samuel  Butler's  statement  that 
"a  great  portrait  is  always  more  a  portrait  of  the  painter  than  the 
painted. ' '  By  their  works  they  shall  be  known,  implies  a  vast  deal  of 
comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  that  all-important  quality  of  great  art 
called  style ;  quality  which  sets  those  works  which  possess  it  everlastingly 
apart  from  all  other  similar  work;  quality  distinguishing  Beethoven  and 
crowning  him  prince  among  composers;  distinguishing  Dante,  and 
Michelangelo,  and  Wordsworth,  and  crowning  them  princes  of  their  arts; 
quality  which  preeminently  distinguishes  the  artists,  Rembrandt  and  Van 
Dyck,  better  illustration  of  which  quality  cannot  be  cited  than  the  etched 

[  139  ]    - 


Notes  on  Drawing-  and  Engraving 

portrait  of  Lucas  Vorsterman,  for  it  is  a  work  of  convincing  truth  as  to  the 
man's  look  while  he  lived,  and  not  less  convincing  as  to  Van  Dyck's  indi- 
vidual genius  for  grasping  those  features  which  personally  characterized 
this  particular  individual,  though  in  the  eyes  of  casual  observers  they  may 
only  be  the  features  common  to  all  men. 

We  must  now  turn  our  thoughts  somewhat  back  in  point  of  time 
and  consider  Albert  Diirer  as  an  etcher.  His  earliest  dated  etching  be- 
longs to  1515.  Of  this  but  few  impressions  are  known.  Next  come 
five  etchings  done  on  iron  and,  in  many  respects,  rather  coarse,  as  natu- 
rally they  must  be  since  the  action  of  acid  upon  iron  will  not  give  as  clear 
or  clean  biting  to  lines  as  it  will  on  a  finer-grained  metal  such  as  copper. 
Of  these  etchings  the  best  and  most  famous  is  "The  Great  Cannon"  (Fig. 
56),  in  which  Diirer  is  seen,  in  some  respects,  at  his  ablest ;  especially,  for 
example,  in  the  landscape  considered  as  a  whole,  and  in  details  such  as 
the  arrangement  of  the  lines  which,  by  curving  and  bending,  define  the 
shape  and  give  the  look  of  solidity  to  the  great  tree  trunk.     Never  was 


Fig.  5G.      The  Great  Cannon.      Etching  by  Albert  Diirer. 
[  140  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

there  truer  evidence  of  an  artist's  delight  in  the  placing  and  ordering  of 
line  for  its  own  sake,  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  the  subject.  This  two- 
fold view  of  line  is  the  invariable  view  of  the  greatest  draughtsmen  at  all 
times.  A  more  interesting,  as  well  as  more  northern,  i.e.,  distinguished 
from  Italian,  or  Gothic  piece  of  carefully  arranged  literalness  was  probably 
never  produced.  The  manner  of  setting  the  horizon  hills  white  against  a 
dark  sky,  and  the  middle-ground  village  dark  against  the  light  hills, ^  and 
the  way,  in  the  foreground,  that  he  alternates  light  space  with  dark, 
keeping  a  very  complex  subject  from  being  in  the  least  confused,  all 
these,  attributes  of  the  best  design,  are  added  to  the  most  painstaking 
regard  for  exact  likeness  of  detail.  If  "The  Great  Cannon"  is  not,  in  an 
abstract  sense,  beautiful,  and  it  is  not  generally  so  regarded,  it  is  none  the 
less  noble  in  a  very  concrete  sense ;  a  thing  which  cannot  be  too  carefully 
studied  if  we  wish  to  get  at  the  true  meaning  of  late  Gothicism  and  com- 
prehend it  as  a  phase  of  art  world-wide  in  its  separation  from  rejuvenated, 
yet  in  the  main  original,  classicism;  such  classicism  as  RaphaePs  earlier 
backgrounds  exhibit. 

A  brief  discussion  of  the  difference  between  the  much  vexed  terms, 
romantic  and  classic,  as  applicable  to  the  art  of  pictures  as  to  the  art  of 
letters,  is  essential  to  what  follows.  In  the  main,  up  at  least  to  the 
opening  of  the  seventeenth  century,  a  close  parallel  is  discoverable  be- 
tween the  general  tendency  of  northern  or  Gothic  art,  the  homely  and 
literal  art  of  exact  likeness-making;  between  the  art  of  Diirer  and  the  art 
of  Rembrandt; — a  close  parallel  between  this  art,  taken  as  a  whole,  its 
aims  and  methods,  and  what  is  meant  by  romantic  art.  By  classic  a  very 
different  artistic  content  is  understood ;  one  expressed  in  utterly  different 
fashion  and  by  widely  different  methods.  The  spirit  of  romantic  art  is 
essentially  the  spirit  of  realism.  That  of  classic  art  is  essentially  the 
spirit  of  artificiality ;  an  artificiality  that  has  as  its  aim  a  legitimate  exag- 
geration of  natural  beauty  and  natural  grandeur;  an  art  that  would,  in  a 
word,  "paint  the  rose."  The  former  makes  no  attempt  to  apprehend  or 
display  abstract  beauty.  It  is  satisfied  with  the  humble  and  commonplace, 
and  with  deriving  from  them  a  true  inspiration.  It  accepts  things  as  they 
are  in  life  and  nature,  and  it  gives  us  Rembrandt's  beggars  and  the  rough 
charm  of  his  square  tower  landscape  (P'ig.  53);  romantic  art  of  a  very  high 

^Diirer's  woodcut,  "The  Visitation"  (Fig.  32),  is  altogether  similar  in  these  respects  to  "The  Great 
Cannon"  (Fig.  56). 

[    141    ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

order.  The  latter  insists  upon  the  pomp  and  magnificence  of  Hfe  and  nature. 
It  is  of  Itahan  origin  and  Roman  descent.  It  loves  the  ruin's  splendor ;  the 
shattered  temple  with  its  elegant  Corinthian  columns.  It  seeks  gracefully 
formed  trees.  It  admits  only  what  is  more  or  less  regular;  at  least,  what 
is  according  to  rule.  It  aims  at  balance,  and  rhythm,  and  all  those  quali- 
ties which  we  expect  in  pictures,  landscapes,  or  portraits,  which  are  in- 
cluded under  the  general  term  "elegant."  Precision  and  order  are  its 
corner  stones  and  a  lovely,  often  glorious  artificiality  is  its  aim  and  end. 
Of  the  one  Rembrandt  is  arch  master.  Of  the  other  no  man  was  ever  more 
completely  master  than  the  great  Claude  Lorrain  (Fig.  17),  Frenchman  by 
birth,  and  of  humble  origin;  cook  by  trade,  who,  very  young,  went  to 
Rome,  turned  artist,  and  became  thoroughly  Italianized.  He  stands  to 
this  day  the  first  and  foremost  representative  of  the  so-called  classic  style 
in  landscape.  He  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  pure  landscape  painters  and 
he  will  remain,  to  all  time,  one  of  the  greatest.      He  was  born  in  1600. 

Like  the  other  artists  of  his  day  Claude  found  etching  a  satisfactory 
and  enticing  method  for  permanent  artistic  expression ;  for  setting  down 
many  a  lovely  thought  about  nature;  thoughts  cast  into  beautiful 
rhythmic  mould  and  balanced  masses.  He  was,  in  painting,  probably 
the  first  man  to  attempt  the  representation  of  the  sun  in  the  midheavens 
with  all  the  consequent  effects  of  light  and  luminous  depth  of  skies ;  calm 
glory  of  high  noon ;  the  fading  or  waxing  beauty  of  a  clear  sunset  or  a 
clearer  dawn.  In  his  etched  landscapes  he  was  perhaps  the  first,  and, 
in  point  of  success,  he  has  scarcely  yet  been  rivaled,  to  get  varying  ef- 
fects of  atmosphere  expressed  and  to  make  permanent  in  art  the  wonder- 
ful, always  changing,  fascinations  of  luminous  haze;  the  hot  haze  of  a 
clear  noon,  or  the  moist  haze  and  wreathing  mists  of  twilight  and  sunrise. 

xVmong  Claude's  forty  etched  plates  the  "Cow  Herd"  is  one 
of  the  best  known ;  a  thing  universally  considered  precious  though  it  is 
very  rarely  to  be  found  in  a  well-printed  state.  Even  more  characteristic 
of  Claude  than  the  "Cow  Herd," — especially  elegant  in  its  composition, 
the  acme  of  rhythm  and  balance,  with  its  central  tree  mass  and  pendant 
side  masses ;  its  central  dancing  peasant  and  pendant  dancing  side  figures, 
though  not  so  balanced  as  to  be  tiresome  and  not  so  graceful  as  to  be  un- 
real or  insipid, — is  the  etching  known  as  a  "Fete  champetre. "  Com- 
pare the  etching,  i.e.,  the  etched  drawing  of  Claude,  with  any  etching  by 
the  comparatively  famous  Dutch  etcher,  Anthony  AVaterloo,  an  etcher 

[  142  ] 


Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck  and  Claude  Lorrain 

deserving  much  credit  for  good  tree  drawing  and  delicate  detail,  or  with 
that  of  the  near-great  Ruisdael  (Fig.  57),  and  we  may  see  what  art  loses  when 
the  artist  has  no  conception  of  a  w^hole,  much  less  of  a  great  whole,  apart 
from  details,  such  as  Rembrandt  and  Claude  never  failed  to  have.  With 
them  the  whole  is  always  vastly  more  important  than  any  of  the  parts. 
So  is  it  always  with  artists  of  first  rank  and  so  it  is  not  with  men  of  the 
second  rank,  no  matter  how  talented.  Look  with  care  at  this  fine  example 
of  Ruisdael's  etching  (Fig.  57),  a  cottage  on  a  hill  in  the  woods.     It  is  one, 


Fig.  57.      Cottage  on  a  Hill.      Etching  by  Ruisdael. 


less  than  a  dozen  in  all,  of  the  plates  he  etched ;  a  splendid  study  of  trees  and 
foliage,  and  a  forerunner,  but  a  confused  forerunner  (Fig.  58),  of  Turner's 
incomparable  "iEsecus  and  Hesperie"  (Fig.  59);  an  artistic  invention  or 
theme ;  not,  so  to  speak,  a  complete  symphonic  form ;  not  a  great  and  com- 
plete work  like  the  '  '^Esecus  and  Hesperie' '  (Fig.  GO).  Such,  within  the  lim- 
its of  the  medium,  are  all  the  etchings,  least  and  most  elaborate,  of  Rem- 
brandt and  Claude ;  in  modern  times,  of  Turner  and  Whistler.  Of  them 
Ruisdael  is  not  one.  The  names  of  Rembrandt,  Claude,  Turner,  and  Whistler 

[  14.3  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

are  powers  in  the  hierarchy  of  art,  because  each,  in  his  way,  got  intellectual 
and  artistic  impressions  of  life  and  nature  as  entirety  and  whole,  while 
each  kept  the  keen  lens  of  his  seeing  eye  on  some,  few  or  many,  of  the 
details  of  that  whole,  recording  them  with  extremest  care.  Moreover, 
they  walked  through  their  own  lives,  and  in  their  works  they  are  shown 
to  have  so  walked,  attended  by  a  vision  of  the  totality  of  meanings,  never 
confused  or  lost  sight  of  among  the  infinity  of  witnesses  to  those  mean- 
ings.    It  is  thus  that  their  works,  or  any  works  of  art  similar  to  theirs, 


Fig.  58.      Confused  Underlying  Design  of  Ruisdael's  Etching,  Fig.  57. 


acquire  just  title  to  being  called  sublime;  thus  and  not  otherwise.  In  a 
word,  they  designed,  in  the  sense  of  imaginatively  arranged,  their  sub- 
jects, i.e.,  they  created  their  pictures.  They  selected  what  they  saw 
suited  their  purpose,  and  they  then  ordered  what  they  selected  in  such 
fashion  as  would  best  emphasize  that  purpose.  At  the  birth  and  at  the 
maturity  of  every  work  by  these  men,  and  none  of  their  works  prove  it 
more  entirely  than  their  etchings,  absolute  equivalents  of  their  drawings, 
there  were   present  emotion,   reason,    knowledge;    hence  none  of  their 

[  144  ] 


Fig.  59.      iEsecus  and  Hesperie.      Etching  by  Turner. 


Fig.  60.      Clear  Underlying  Design  of  Turner's  Etching,  Fig.  59. 

[  145  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

works  can  ever  grow  old  in  the  sense  of  outworn.  That  they  were  mas- 
ters of  their  medium  goes  without  saying.  That  they  were  magnificent 
draughtsmen  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  the  whole  matter,  for  on  the 
magnificence  of  their  drawing  rests  the  justice  in  their  having  such  repu- 
tations as  they  have,  and  long  have  had. 


[  146  ] 


CHAPTER   VT. 

MEZZOTINT  ENGRAVING-CLAUDE  LORRAIN 
AND  RICHARD  EARLOM 


u. 


P  to  this  point  we  have  been  trying  to  get  an  understanding  of  the 
technical  processes  of  engraving ;  to  learn  what  line  engravings,  etchings, 
woodcuts,  are;  i.e.,  pictures  made  from  engraved  plates,  etched  plates, 
wood  blocks ;  things,  the  very  existence  of  which  depends  upon  line.  It 
is  line;  line  variously  combined;  coarse  line  in  woodcuts;  hair  lines  in 
dry-point  etching ;  all  sorts  of  lines,  tapering,  or  of  even  thickness ;  deli- 
cate or  coarse,  steady  or  tremulous;  smooth  or  broken;  it  is  line,  and 
line  alone,  on  which  all  the  prints  thus  far  considered  have  depended  for 
their  being.  Diirer's  finest  line  engraving,  or  the  robust  prints  of  his 
etching  period,  such  as  "The  Great  Cannon"  (Fig.  5G),  or  his  broad  wood- 
cuts, such  as  the  "Repose  in  Egypt"  (Fig.  33);  Mantegna's  "Triumph  of 
Csesar"  (Fig.  30),  of  art  no  less  a  triumph;  that  Assumption  engraved  on 
the  silver  pax  of  St.  John's  in  Florence  (Fig.  11);  Marcantonio's  masterly 
transcripts  of  the  works  of  Raphael  (Fig.  39);  Lucas  of  Leyden  at  his 
best  (Fig.  31);  Rembrandt,  Claude,  Van  Dyck,  and  Ruisdael,  every  one 
of  these  men's  engravings,  etchings,  or  woodcuts  consists  of  a  design 
made  up  of  lines,  a  drawing,  either  furrowed  into  or  left  in  relief  upon 
the  surface  of  a  metal  plate  or  block  of  wood.  These  lines  may  define 
the  simplest  shape  or  they  may  veil  that  shape  with  effects  of  shade  and 
shadow  so  complex  as  to  make  us  forget  all  about  line,  as  such.  Yet, 
when  all  has  been  said,  a  very  little  careful  thought  or  examination  must 
make  it  clear  to  any  one  that  prints  such  as  we  have  been  examining 
have  both  origin  and  end  in  line;  that  line  implies  drawing;  drawing, 
which  the  great  Renaissance  master  declared  to  be  the  father  of  all  arts. 

Further,  we  have  tried  to  emphasize  the  fact,  beyond  chance  of  mis- 

[  147  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

understanding,  that  such  prints  as  have  been  discussed  are,  in  varying 
degrees,  ec^uivalent  to  drawings.  The  value  of  such  prints  rests  ulti- 
mately, as  has  been  said,  on  the  same  grounds  as  those  on  which  the  value 
of  drawings  rests ;  value  which  lies  wholly  in  the  fact  that  into  a  drawing, 
done  with  pen  or  pencil,  the  artist  puts  his  very  self  in  his  effort  to  get 
down  the  utmost  about  the  facts  of  his  subject  as  it  appears  to  his  and 
other  men's  bodily  eyes,  together  with  the  utmost  of  his  own  peculiar 
and  individual  reaction,  intellectual  and  emotional,  which  is  himself. 
Granting,  then,  as  prime  requisites  in  the  makeup  of  an  artist,  clear  and 
penetrating  sight,  together  with  impassioned  vision  or  poetic  fire,  it  fol- 
lows, as  the  sun  his  course,  that  all  artistic  records  of  such  conditions, 
drawings,  must  have  unique  value.  They  are  the  first  records  that  an 
artist  makes,  and  they  may  easily  contain  the  most  that  any  record  can 
contain  of  an  artist's  zeal  for  certain  facts  of  nature  and  the  bearing  of 
such  facts  in  his  emotional  world.  In  his  drawings  we  may,  and  in  the 
drawings  of  great  men  must,  come  into  the  most  direct  and  immediate 
communion  with  the  mind  and  soul  of  the  artist,  be  he  Raphael,  Rem- 
brandt, or  AVhistler.  Now  for  such  drawings  we  have  shown  that  en- 
graving, etching,  woodcutting,  may  offer  eciuivalent  substitutes,  this 
added,  equivalent  substitutes  in  considerable  or  great  numbers.  Hence 
while  the  intrinsic  standard  value  of  the  artistic  currency  is  absolutely 
maintained,  the  amount  of  such  currency  put  into,  or  possible  of  circula- 
tion, is  enormously  increased.  Be  it  remembered,  moreover,  that  the 
engraved  print  by  a  great  artist  has  a  value  all  its  own ;  value  which  is 
forever,  in  itself,  in  contradistinction  to  that  valuable  and  much  sought 
engraved  print,  a  bank  note,  the  value  of  which  is  only  representative  and 
depends  upon  a  reserve  deposit  in  some  vault.  To  get  the  former  we 
must,  as  a  rule,  have  the  latter,  but  the  latter  is  plainly  only  a  means  to 
an  end ;  not  an  end  in  itself.  Those  men  with  whom  the  latter  is  only  a 
means  to  an  end,  a  good  end,  are  the  men  who  make  up  decent  society, 
the  useful,  the  upright.  In  so  far  now  as  this  group  of  men  uses  money 
to  the  good  end  of  gathering  together  works  of  art,  expressions  of  crystal- 
line thinking  adequately  set  forth,  for  its  own  pleasure  and  delight,  it 
represents,  indeed,  the  storehouse  for  the  materials  of  culture  in  civilized 
communities.  This  group  may,  and  often  does,  represent  only  the  swine 
side,  the  greedy  side,  of  culture;  that  culture  which  would  corner  the 
beauty  of  art,  as  well  as  nature,  for  itself      The  palace  of  such  art  lovers 

[  148  ] 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 

is  little  better  than  a  sty  so  far  as  the  good  of  society,  which  is  the  good 
of  the  world,  goes.  Circe  has  worked  her  worst  upon  the  inhabitants  of 
such  palaces.  They  are  turned  into  swine  and  they  have  been  their  own 
Circes.  But  luckily  they  are  mortal  and  subject  to  death,  as  are  their 
hoardings  to  distribution.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  those  men  who 
are  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  chances  to  enrich  the  world's  collections 
with  examples  of  new  and  ancient  art,  evidences  of  imaginative  thinking 
adequately  expressed;  men  who  spend  their  money  for  such  things  be- 
cause they  themselves  enjoy  and  appreciate  them  and  because  they  want 
others  to  do  the  same,  meaning  to  make  it  possible  for  others  to  do  so 
through  generous  lending  and  ultimate  giving.  These  are  the  cultivated 
generous.  They  form  a  most  valuable  class  in  civilized  communities. 
But,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  the  yeast  which  leavens  the  whole  lump, 
the  true  salt  of  salvation  in  such  connections,  is  the  number  of  the  rank 
and  file  of  us  who,  through  taking  thought  and  because  we  love  man  and 
nature,  derive  endless  delight  from  art,  which  is  the  best  witness  to  civil- 
ization ;  those  of  us  who  are  willing  and  glad  to  work  hard  for  an  under- 
standing and  appreciation  of  the  things  which  best  express  the  best  men's 
best  conceptions  about  the  world  of  substance,  significance,  and  spirit, 
past,  present,  and  to  come.  Many  such  conceptions  have  been  made  evi- 
dent in  the  form  of  pictures;  in  the  world  of  the  church,  from  Tintoret's 
"Universal  Mother"  to  Watts's  "Spirit  of  all  Religions";  in  the 
scientific,  from  Rembrandt's  "School  of  Anatomy"  to  Tyndall's  snow 
crystal  drawings;  in  the  natural,  from  Rembrandt's  landscapes  to 
Whistler's;  in  the  world  of  man,  from  Holbein's  portrait  of  Erasmus 
and  his  red-chalk  drawings  at  Windsor  to  Reynolds's  "Dr.  Johnson"; 
all  of  which  things  are  the  comment  of  the  mind  of  man  upon  the  dignity 
of  man  and  his  place  in  and  his  intensity  of  regard  for  the  visible  creation ; 
witnesses  of  natural  reverence  and  human  understanding ;  in  a  word,  sure 
evidence  of  faith  in  enduring  values.  And  into  the  medium  of  one  of  the 
most  important  of  the  arts,  engraving,  no  end  of  such  records  have  been 
cast,  and,  by  means  of  this  art,  preserved  for  our  edification  and  constant 
delight. 

The  sort  of  pictures,  prints,  which  we  have  all  this  while  been  dis- 
cussing have  their  whole  existence  in  the  fact  of  line.  They  are  made  of 
line  and  line  only.  To  what  line  really  is,  and  to  its  place  in  art,  we  must 
now  giv^e  some  further  attention  and,  afterwards,  consider  an  effort  made 

[  149  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

by  the  engravers  to  do  away  altogether  with  Hne,  the  invention  of  mezzo- 
tint, with  its  great  advantages  and  beauties,  and  its  inherent  hmitations. 
In  nature  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  hne.  The  Hne,  fundamental  as  well 
as  chief  means  of  pictorial  representation,  is  a  convention  by  which  we 
express,  in  all  kinds  of  pictures,  the  limits  and  shapes  of  the  things  de- 
picted. It  may  be  pure  outline  or  we  may  add  to  this,  by  the  interweaving 
of  lines,  many  or  few,  the  appearance  of  shade  and  shadow  by  means  of 
which  the  pure  or  bare  outline  takes  on  a  look  of  natural  solidity.  When 
we  look  at  nature,  tree  against  hills,  hills  against  sky,  heads  against  a 
background  of  wall  or  crowded  together  so  as  to  be  seen  against  one  an- 
other, we  actually  see  nothing  but  masses  of  one  color  relieved  against 
another  color.  We  are  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  head  leaves  off  and 
the  background  begins;  that  the  hills'  limits  in  one  direction  are  the  sky's 
limits  in  the  other.  We  see  that  all  things  have  their  fixed  bounds,  but 
we  do  not  see  the  bounds  set  off  by  anything  which  we  think  of  ordinarily 
as  a  line  or  an  outline.  They  are  fixed  by  such  invisible  lines  as  the  bird 
makes  in  flying.  They  are  set  and  hemmed  in  by  such  lines  as  the 
geometrician  thinks  of  when  he  defines  a  line  as  that  which  has  only 
length.  The  black  mark  which  we  make  upon  paper,  which  the  artist 
sweeps  across  his  canvas,  may  remain  visible  in  the  finished  picture  or  it 
may  have  vanished,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  must  be  there  at  first, — 
this  mark,  called  a  line,  is  an  arbitrary  convention,  i.e.,  a  convenient 
usage  agreed  upon  by  all  men  with  perfect  uniformity  of  understanding ; 
the  agreement  of  endless  generations  of  men ;  a  convenient  usage  that  has 
come  to  be  unconsciously  accepted  as  the  natural,  visible  condition  of 
nature  itself.  Yet  there  is  no  such  thing  as  the  conventional  line  in 
nature;  not,  at  least,  in  the  usual  and  commonly  accepted  sense.  None 
the  less,  conventional  line  is  the  very  foundation  of  all  those  pictorial 
representations  of  nature  which  it  is  the  end  and  aim  of  art  to  produce, 
namely  pictures.  Art  is  based  on  nature  in  the  sense  that  the  terms  of 
artistic  representation  are  the  shapes  and  forms  of  nature,  forms  and 
shapes  which  we  recognize  in  the  picture  as  being  those  of  nature  and  by 
means  of  which  we  get  an  understanding  of  the  artist's  purpose;  in  other 
words,  by  which  we  recognize  what  he  has  painted.  We  know  the 
shapes  as  we  know  the  meanings  of  the  words  which,  taken  together, 
make  a  sentence  capable,  in  toto,  of  conveying  the  speaker's  meaning. 
The  words,  taken  together,  are  the  conveyancers  of  a  sum  of  meaning  far 

[  150  ] 


s 

o 
o 


o 

J/} 

a: 

"1 

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HH 

:^ 

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^ 

^ 

E 

o 

C/3 

■^ 

-< 

> 

o 

'Z 

Q 
z 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 

beyond  that  which  could  be  got  from  the  same  words  individually.  To 
reproduce  shapes  we  have  recourse  to  lines.  They  are  the  means  by 
which  we  describe  shapes.  Thus  are  we  using  a  convention;  i.e.,  by 
means  of  line,  which  does  not  exist  in  the  makeup  of  natural  appearances, 
eitlier  generally  or  in  detail,  we  produce  tlie  semblance  of  natural  appear- 
ances, both  generally  and  in  detail.  Our  work  of  art  is  thus  based  on 
nature,  and  is  in  a  sense  true  to  nature,  but  it  is  not  natural  in  the  sense 
that  any  part,  great  or  small,  of  nature  has  been  actually  reproduced  or 
absolutely  duplicated. 

Now  it  is,  beyond  question,  one  of  the  chief  purposes  of  art  to  ap- 
proach nature  as  closely  as  possible,  i.e.,  make  the  means  and  materials  of 
art,  as  they  combine  to  create  the  semblance  of  nature,  the  picture  of  a 
tree  or  the  portrait  of  a  man,  do  so  with  the  utmost  amount  of  verisimili- 
tude. It  is  evident  that  while  we  may  get  a  remarkable  resemblance,  a 
wonderful  approach  to  the  truth  of  reality,  in  an  outline  of  a  tree  or  face, 
in  an  outline  of  these  things,  made  to  look  round  and  solid  by  shadow  and 
shade,  laid  on  in  more  or  less  intricate  combinations  of  line,  as  Rembrandt 
and  Diirer  did,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  better  than  either  of  them, — it  is 
evident  that  we  may  obtain  marvelous  results,  yet  it  is  undeniable  that 
we  should  get  a  closer  approach  to  the  truth  of  reality  in  the  pictured 
representation,  say  of  tree  or  face,  if  we  could  do  away  with  the  conven- 
tion of  line  altogether.  To  put  it  in  a  different  way,  if  we  could  make 
our  pictures  merely  masses  of  one  color  set  against  masses  of  another, 
giving  to  these  masses  their  true  shapes,  but  not  by  means  of  outline,  we 
should  come  nearer  yet  to  nature.  This,  of  course,  is  exactly  what  is 
done  in  painting. 

Recall  the  explanation  of  values  (page  93)  as  being  the  amount  of 
light  and  shade  in  a  picture  irrespective  of  the  color.  Look,  for  example, 
at  the  jonquils  in  color  (Fig.  61),  yellow  and  green,  and  then  at  the  same  jon- 
quils with  their  color  taken  away,  but  with  their  shapes,  shade,  and  shadow 
forms  retained;  the  values  of  the  picture  of  jonquils  minus  color.  Of  this 
later  condition,  the  jonquils  in  values  without  color,  we  have  two  repre- 
sentations, one,  in  outline,  with  shade  and  shadow  made  up  of  lines  vari- 
ously combined,  the  equivalent  of  a  line  engraving;  the  other,  in  shade 
and  shadow  masses,  without  line,  the  equivalent  of  a  water  color.  The 
latter  is  undoubtedly  a  nearer  approach  to  the  condition  of  nature,  in 
which  no  lines  exist,  than  the  former.     How  find  a  method  of  engraving 

[  151  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

in  light  and  shade,  using  no  lines,  not  even  an  outline,  and  so,  barring 
color,  approach  in  engraving  as  near  to  natural  conditions  as  the  painter 
of  the  jonquils  has  or  as  ever  any  painter  does?  The  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion came  with  the  discovery  of  light  and  shade  engraving;  with  what  is 
known  as  mezzotint  engraving. 

Briefly,  before  explaining  the  actual  process  of  mezzotint  and  consid- 
ering examples  of  it,  we  should  say  a  word  more  of  the  use  of  line  in  pic- 
torial art  and  especially  in  the  art  of  painting,  upon  which  engraving,  and 
line  engraving  in  particular,  has  mainly  hinged,  despite  the  fact  that  so 
many  splendid  works  have  been  produced  which  have  had  no  direct  con- 
nection with  painting;  not  more  direct,  at  least,  than  is  implied  by  the 
fact  that  they  are  the  work  of  men  whose  lives  were  primarily  given  to 
painting.  It  is  this  that  must  be  made  plain.  Painting,  painted  pictures, 
which  means  the  representation  of  the  visual  aspect  of  man  and  nature, 
the  representation  on  a  flat  surface,  and  in  only  two  dimensions,  of  things 
which  have  three  dimensions  and  are  variously  placed  in  space,  depends 
upon  three  fundamental  things.  These  fundamental  things  are  outline, 
which  gives  the  shape  to  pictured  objects;  hght,  shade,  and  shadow,  the 
matter  of  values  as  already  explained,  which  give  the  look  of  roundness 
and  solidity  to  pictured  objects;  color,  which  gives  such  objects  their 
loveliest  natural  attribute  and,  probably,  their  most  precious  artistic 
quality.  With  tw^o  of  these  fundamental  things  only,  outline  and 
chiaroscuro,  or  light  and  shade,  does  engraving  deal. 

That  painting  is,  or  probably  will  be,  the  most  natural  which  follows 
nature  closest.  The  closest  possible  following  of  nature  really  implies  the 
concealment  of  line ;  in  other  words,  paint  in  masses,  when  line  is  done 
away  with  and  edges,  distinct  or  softened  as  the  case  demands,  alone  re- 
main ;  the  condition  of  nature  carried  over  into  art.  In  this  way  many  of 
the  greatest  painters  have  worked,  the  school  of  Venice  in  largest  measure, 
headed  by  Titian,  together  with  many  a  northern  master,  Rembrandt, 
Rubens,  Van  Dyck,  Reynolds,  Turner,  Corot,  AVhistler.  And  yet  we 
cannot  maintain  with  any  show  of  reason  in  the  face  of  fact,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  all  the  facts  of  art,  the  fourteenth-  and  fifteenth-century  Flor- 
entine school  from  Botticelli  to  Raphael,  that  the  best  painting  necessarily 
implies  the  concealment  of  outline,  or  denies  even  the  use  of  color  put  on 
in  line-like  touches  interwoven  as  are  the  lines  of  shade  and  shadow  in  line 
engraving.      This  procedure  is   common  even  on  the   best  canvases  of 

[  152  ] 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 

Raphael,  Filippo  Lippi,  Botticelli,  and  others  of  their  company.  Neither 
are  clearly  defined  line  and  outline  by  any  means  uncommon  in  the  work 
of  the  Venetian  painters,  John  Bellini  and  Tintoret. 

There  are  two  important  facts  to  be  considered  in  this  connection. 
The  first,  that  the  use  of  line  and  outline,  as  it  is  the  most  fundamental 
of  the  attributes  which  have  been  enumerated,  the  prime  means  by  which 
facts  about  nature  and  man  can  be  expressed  in  pictorial  art,  so  also  it  is 
the  means  first  employed  and  studied  by  individuals  and  races  when  they 
begin  to  make  pictures.  The  second  fact  is  this.  Some  men  and  groups 
of  men  have  a  stronger  natural  leaning  towards  pure  form  or  shape  than 
towards  color.  Under  the  former  head  would  come  the  Florentine  school, 
Raphael  in  the  foremost  place,  of  course ;  under  the  latter  the  Venetian 
school,  Titian  as  its  chief  exponent.  That  one  prefers  color  with  all  its 
glory  and,  for  the  sake  of  it,  sacrifices  something  of  form,  or  shape,  while 
the  other  fairly  adores  shape  or  form  and,  for  their  sake,  sacrifices  some- 
what of  color,  is  a  matter  as  unexplainable  as  why  one  man  likes  a  certain 
flavor  and  another  does  not.  But  the  fact  remains  that  the  two  greatest 
schools  of  painting  the  western  world  has  known,  and  all  other  great 
schools  and  individuals,  began  with  line  and,  later,  by  unexplainable  in- 
clinations retained  it  or  discarded  it  as  far  as  possible.  The  bearing  of 
which  for  our  present  purpose  is  that  drawing,  the  rock  on  which  all  art 
rests,  is  a  matter  of  the  various  uses  of  line. 

To  return  now  to  our  starting  point.  It  does  not  nriean  that  those 
engravers  who  sought  a  way  of  engraving — mezzotint  was  the  way  they 
discovered — by  which  line  and  outline,  or  any  crosshatching  of  lines  in 
shade  and  shadow,  could  be  done  away  with,  any  more  discovered  the 
perfect  way  of  engraving  than  that  the  Venetians  worked  out  the  perfect 
way  of  painting.  It  means  simply  this,  that  for  depicting,  by  the  art  of 
engraving,  certain  aspects  of  life  and  nature,  a  nearer  approximation  to 
perfection  had  been  found,  as  is  equally  true  of  the  Venetians  in  their 
painting,  or  in  the  work  of  Rubens,  the  preeminent  colorist  of  the  North. 
On  the  other  hand,  Marcantonio,  the  follower  of  Raphael,  and  all  the  en- 
gravers, original  or  of  the  translator  group,  who,  leaving  out  color,  worked 
chiefly  for  form,  still,  finally,  in  their  consummate  works,  always  set 
down  evident  and  plainly  visible  lines ;  lines  in  themselves  often  exquis- 
itely beautiful  and,  as  such,  the  enhancers  of  the  total  beauty  of  that  of 
which  they  were  the  parts.     The  whole  question  turns  on  the  fact  that 

[  153  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

the  means  of  art  as  well  as  the  achievements  of  art  are  all  human  conven- 
tions, hence  finite,  and  that  the  subject  of  art  is  infinite.  No  means  or 
single  convention  can  do  more  than  tell  us  something,  little  at  most,  of 
the  infinite  world.  One  means  or  convention  is  peculiarly  fitted  for  the 
expression  of  one  part  of  this  subject;  another,  for  another  part.  The 
])ersonal  equation  enters  into  the  means  and  convention,  into  the  processes 
and  technique  of  an  artist,  be  he  painter,  engraver,  or  etcher,  just  as  much 
as  into  the  kind  and  degree  of  his  imaginative  vision  of  ultimate  signifi- 
cance or  his  power  of  grasping,  hence  setting  forth,  appearances  and  real- 
ities of  fact  and  making  these,  as  he  sets  them  forth,  recognizable  to  all 
men;  finally,  through  their  recognizableness,  uncovering  and  conveying 
meanings  and  significance  hidden  from  most  men.  Thus  the  artist  opens 
the  closed  eyes  of  souls  upon  the  realm  of  fundamental  realities  and  eternal 
values,  the  glorious  consummation  of  which  is  a  serene  and  alert-minded- 
ness  which  ends  in  the  sort  of  faith  that  helps  make  endurable  the  seem- 
ing confusion  of  the  world  of  matter.'  It  is  a  consummation  which  creates 
for  us  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  through  the  agency  of  other  men's 
art,  assisted,  of  course,  by  our  own  artistic  comprehension.  The  works 
of  great  artists  are  inspiration  given  body ;  their  prescience  into  the  other, 
yet  present,  world  of  fact  and  meaning,  given  substance  of  form  and 
color.  It  is  this  substance,  this  body,  which  alone  can  help  the  mass  of 
us  to  understand  more  and  to  see  more,  hence  enjoy  more,  than  would 
otherwise  be  possible.  Herein  lies  the  inestimable  value  of  art.  Art  that 
tends  toward  this  end  and  art  education  that  tends  to  give  a  better  under- 
standing of  this  end,  when,  as  in  the  works  of  the  masters,  it  has  been  to 
an  unusual  degree  attained,  is  the  only  art  worth  the  name,  and  no  less  is 
such  art  education  the  only  art  education  worth  the  name.^ 

It  is  often  asserted  that  mezzotint  engraving  was  invented  by  Prince 
Rupert,  nephew  of  Charles  I,  but  it  is  now  pretty  clearly  ascertained  that 
the  honor  of  the  invention  belongs  to  a  man  by  the  name  of  Siegen,  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Prince's  service.  The  art  was  taught  to  Prince  Rupert 
by  this  lieutenant  and  it  was  introduced  into  England  by  the  Prince  him- 
self, who  was  no  mean  practitioner  of  it.  Siegen  had  a  Dutch  mother 
and  a  German  father,  and  while  the  date  of  his  birth,  like  the  date  of  his 

'Goethe  said:    "The  end  is  everywhere;  in  art  is  truth — seeli  solace  there." 

-Ralph  Adanas  Cram  has  recently  said,  "All  great  art  is  a  light  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  mere 
activity."  George  Eliot  long  since  said,  "Art  is  the  nearest  thing  to  life;  it  is  a  mode  of  amplifying 
experience  and  extending  our  contact  with  our  fellow-men  beyond  the  bounds  of  our  personal  lot."" 

[  154  ] 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 

invention,  is  uncertain,  a  portrait  of  Amelia  Elisabeth,  Princess  of  Hesse, 
executed  by  him  in  1G43,  giv^es  all  the  information  which  is  essential,  for 
it  is  known  that  Siegen  was  in  the  Prince's  service  as  early  as  1611. 

The  usual  metal  employed  by  the  mezzotint  engravers  was  copper, 
although  steel  was  likewise  used.  The  process  consists  in  passing  an  in- 
strument called  a  rocker  or  cradle  over  the  surface  of  the  plate.  This 
instrument  resembles  a  broad  chisel,  the  edge  of  which  is  curved,  seg- 
mental, having  the  outline  of  the  rocker  of  an  infant's  cradle,  hence  its 
name.  Its  surface  is  studded  with  many  sharp,  fine  and  pointed  teeth. 
The  cradle  is  rocked  from  side  to  side  by  the  motion  of  the  hand  so  that 
each  point  or  tooth  makes  a  small  depression  in  the  metal  plate,  thus  rais- 
ing a  corresponding  burr.  This  burr,  slight  roughing  of  the  surface  of 
the  plate,  will  naturally  retain  some  ink,  in  spite  of  the  most  careful  wip- 
ing before  the  plate  goes  into  the  press,  and  this  ink  will  give  the  print  a 
certain  amount  of  cloudy  shading,  often,  if  properly  managed,  an  element 
of  great  beauty  in  a  print,  and  one  always  lost  in  late  impressions,  because 
the  burr,  so  slight,  is  soon  worn  away  by  the  heavy  process  of  printing. 
The  burr  in  mezzotint  is  essentially  the  same  as  the  burr  already  discussed 
in  connection  with  dry-point  etching.  In  practice  the  burr  of  a  mezzo- 
tint plate  means  the  sum  of  many  little  elevations  beside  as  many  little 
depressions ;  in  dry-point  etching  the  burr  means  the  sum  of  the  little  ele- 
vated lines  beside  as  many  depressed  lines.  The  process  of  rocking  is 
carried  on  until  the  entire  surface  of  the  metal  plate  is  evenly  roughened 
with  burr  and  evenly  sown  with  dots.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  have  a 
plate  rocked  in  eighty  or  a  hundred  different  directions  in  order  to  get  a 
sufficiently  roughened  surface.  It  is  obvious  that  a  plate  so  rocked,  when 
inked,  will  hold  not  only  hundreds  of  little  drops  of  ink  in  the  depressions, 
but  also  some  ink  on  its  surface,  because  of  the  burr.  When  put  through 
the  press  such  a  plate  will  naturally  print  dead  black  and,  through  the 
agency  of  the  burr,  a  very  beautiful  velvety  surface  such  as  can  be 
obtained  in  no  other  way.  This  surface  on  a  fine  mezzotint  print  resem- 
bles nothing  more  closely  than  the  bloom  on  a  grape  or  the  kidlike  surface 
of  a  calla  lily  flower.  Intrinsically  it  is  one  of  the  richest  as  well  as 
most  thoroughly  beautiful  surfaces  which  any  art  can  command. 

It  is  clear  to  be  seen  that  by  the  use  of  a  scraper,  a  blunt-ended  bar 
of  hard  steel,  the  burr  can  be  more  or  less  removed  at  will ;  that,  if  so  de- 
sired, it  can  be  removed  altogether;  in  a  word,  that  the  dents  and  eleva- 

[  155  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

tions  made  by  the  teeth  of  the  cradle  can  be  pressed,  or  rubbed  down, 
until  they  become  very  shallow,  or  cease  to  exist  at  all.  Now,  as  in 
metal  engraving  the  deeper  the  incision  the  more  ink  it  will  hold  and  the 
heavier  line  it  will  print,  so  also  the  same  is  true  of  the  incised  dot  or  dent 
on  a  mezzotint  plate.  It  becomes  apparent  that  any  sort  of  a  design  or 
picture  can  be  worked  out  of  a  fully  rocked  plate  by  means  of  the  scraper ; 
the  deepest  shadows  being  left  untouched,  and  the  high  lights  obtained 
by  scraping  away  all  the  burr  and  pressing  in  all  the  dents  until  that  part 
of  the  metal  plate  is  once  more  perfectly  smooth  or  burnished  and,  accord- 
ingly, incapable  of  holding  ink.  It  is  obvious  that  every  conceivable  in- 
termediate shade  can  be  provided  for  by  more  or  less  scraping.  The 
scraper  may,  in  a  manner,  be  likened  to  a  paint  brush,  the  instrument 
which  in  an  artist's  hand  produces  every  exquisite  and  imperceptible 
gradation  of  hue  or  chiaroscuro,  though  we  must  not  forget  that  the 
scraper,  like  the  burin,  is  a  much  more  difficult  tool  to  manipulate  than 
the  brush  or  the  pencil. 

The  print  taken  from  a  mezzotint  plate  is  an  engraving  in  light  and 
shade,  a  thing  frequently  devoid  of  any  lines  whatsoever ;  a  thing  which 
may  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  wash  drawing.  Made  by  an  artist,  who  is 
likewise  a  master  of  mezzotint,  such  a  print  may  be  as  fine  as  any  wash 
drawing,  every  gradation  from  pure  white  to  deep  black  being  as  certainly 
though  not  as  easily  obtained  with  the  scraper  as  with  the  brush.  It  is 
an  art  which  can  be  practiced  without  great  expenditure  of  preparatory 
labor  or  wearisome  practice  because,  after  the  metal  plates  have  been 
rocked,  a  thing  which  can  be  done  by  any  skilled  workman,  an  artist  may 
take  them  anywhere  and  use  them  at  will  with  almost  as  great  ease  as  an 
etcher  his  grounded  plate. 

As  an  example  of  what  may  be  done  with  almost  pure  mezzotint, 
i.  e. ,  mezzotint  not  reinforced  by  etched  lines  as  are  the  mezzotint  engrav- 
ings of  the  "Liber  Studiorum,"  Turner's  "Brougham  Castle"  (Fig.  62), 
1825,  is  as  good  as  can  be  found  in  the  whole  history  of  landscape  subjects 
rendered  in  this  lovely,  delicate,  yet  vigorous  medium.  Amiel  said  that 
all  great  art  implies  a  state  of  mind.  No  better  illustration  of  the  truth 
of  this  statement  could  be  found  than  Turner's  "Brougham."  The 
brilliant  mass  of  the  castle  dimmed  on  the  side  toward  the  clearing  sky 
and  the  rainbow,  but  bright  where  the  direct  light  of  the  cleared  sky  falls 
upon  it,  becomes  an  almost  supernatural  castle  as  it  stands  forth  from  the 

[  156  ] 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 


Fig.  62.      Brougham  Castle.      Mezzotint  after  Turner. 


depth  and  hollow  of  the  storm  cloud  beyond.  The  unearthly  quiet  of  the 
lull  before  the  life  of  things  has  quite  resumed  its  natural  sway;  the 
brightness  of  the  rainbow  graded  in  truthful  bands  which  recall  its  color ; 
this  greatest  miracle  of  heaven  reflected  in  the  black  mirror  of  the  mill 
pond  below;  smoking  chimneys  in  the  distance;  sheep  coming  forth  to 
browse  upon  the  middle  slopes;  even  the  lilies,  dazzling  white  among 
their  own  dark  pads  and  the  ooze  at  the  water's  margin,  are,  all  alike, 
shown  in  an  atmosphere  of  common  reality  yet  subject  to  that  innate 
spirit  of  a  moment  of  time  which  always  verges  upon  the  supernatural 
and  the  fearful;  in  a  word,  almost  spectral.  The  simple  fact  is  that 
Turner  not  only  heard  the  sermons  in  stones  and  read  the  books  in  run- 
ning brooks,  but  by  depicting  these  and  all  the  other  things  which 
go  with  them  to  make  up  "great  nature"  in  the  way  he  did,  himself 
preached  endless  unique  sermons  and  engraved  endless  very  wonderful 
books  indeed.     The  reality  put  him  into  a  certain  state  of  mind.     Then 

[  157  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing;'  and  Engraving' 

he  pictured  his  state  of  mind  by  transcribing  what  best  served  his  purpose 
from  the  reahty.  In  other  words,  he  drew  the  unseen  as  well  as  the  seen. 
And  for  such  a  reality  as  the  subject  in  question,  together  with  the  state 
of  mind  produced  by  it,  the  fearsome  and  gentle  together  with  the  ele- 
ment of  promise,  he  almost  gives  us  clairvoyance.  Turner  for  such  a 
purpose  found  pure  mezzotint  a  perfect  technical  medium.  Never  did 
any  artist  preach  more  eloquently  upon  the  theme  of  the  nearness  of 
grandeur  unto  dust,  or  speak  more  convincingly  of  the  things  which  pass 
in  swift  endless  change  and  those  which  remain  for  long  seasons  unalter- 
ing,  than  Turner  in  his  "Brougham  Castle."  It  is,  like  every  great  pic- 
ture ever  made,  a  case  of  projecting  the  realm  of  thought  into  the  realm 
of  matter;  a  declaration,  in  fascinating  embodiment,  of  the  fact  that 
things  are  what  we  think  them;  of  the  immortal  doctrine  that  "the  mind 
is  its  own  place"  and  can  "make  a  heaven  of  hell  and  hell  of  heaven"; 
a  very  wonderful  work  of  engraving  which  is  an  equally  wonderful  work 
of  drawing. 

Mezzotint  was  an  art  which  lent  itself  with  particular  grace  to  the 
reproduction  of  painting  because  of  its  soft  and  harmonious  character; 
particularly  to  the  reproduction  of  paintings  which  depend  largely  upon 
chiaroscuro  for  their  effect  and  charm.  For  this  reason  it  was  taken  up 
by  the  translator-engravers  as  well  as  the  painter-engravers.  More  than 
a  hundred  mezzotint  engravers  found  employment  in  reproducing  the 
portraits  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  alone.  The  best  of  these  men's  works 
are  now  esteemed  classics  of  this  art  which  reached  its  highest  develop- 
ment in  the  eighteenth-century  portraiture  of  England  and  in  early  nine- 
teenth-century English  landscape,  notably  that  of  Turner,  an  example  of 
which  has  just  been  discussed.  Yet  splendid  as  these  works  of  art  are, 
and  highly  as  they  are  prized,  very  few  men  practice  mezzotint  engraving 
at  the  present  time  or  have  during  the  past  half  century.^ 

It  was  customary  to  use  mezzotint  in  connection  with  etching,  as 
now,  knowing  the  process  of  each  art,  can  readily  be  understood.  An 
artist  would,  for  example,  etch  the  main  lines  of  his  design,  the  contours 
of  figures  and  the  bounding  lines  of  draperies,  or  the  outlines  of  hills  and 
of  the  branches  of  trees.      Afterwards  he  would  rock  the  plate  and  finally 

'There  have  been  a  few  men  who  have  practiced  the  art  of  mezzotint  in  notable  manner  of  recent 
times,  and  among  these  the  name  of  Franic  Short  stands  out  conspicuously.  Besides  reproducing 
works  of  other  painters,  he  has  engraved  some  of  the  hitherto  unengraved  works  of  Turner  in  a  masterly 
fashion,  not  to  mention  landscape  compositions  of  his  own. 

[  158  ] 


Claude  Lorrain  and  Richard  Earlom 

scrape  it,  until,  on  the  finished  plate,  the  deeply  etched  lines  would  appear 
as  if  partially  hidden  behind  or  under  a  thin  layer,  veil  as  it  were,  of  mez- 
zotint dots  because  the  lines  of  the  etching  are,  as  a  rule,  much  deeper 
than  the  dots  of  the  rocker.  The  print  from  such  a  plate  would  contain 
corresponding  effects  of  outline  with  light  and  shade,  a  combination  akin 
to  that  of  a  pen  and  wash  drawing;  one,  as  all  know,  admirably  adapted 
to  landscape  subjects.  Hence  the  reason  that  etching  and  mezzotint  en- 
graving, which  together  give  line,  and  light  and  shade,  form  and  chiaro- 
scuro, were  adopted  for  the  reproduction  of  landscape  studies  in  Claude's 
famous  book,  "The  Liber  Veritatis,"  and  for  Turner's  yet  more  famous 
book,  "The  Liber  Studiorum,"  which  two  books  respectively  may,  with 
truth,  be  called  the  two  great  classics  of  the  art  of  landscape. 

There  are,  however,  many  instances  in  which  painter-gravers  and 
translator-engravers  worked  with  pure  mezzotint,— Turner's  "Brougham 
Castle"  is  an  example, — allowing  no  etched  line  to  appear  in  the  final 
result ;  j^et  these  very  men  would  not  infrequently  make  use  of  etched 
guide  lines  during  the  process  of  engraving  the  plate.  It  is  important  to 
notice  that  Valentine  Green,  the  greatest  perhaps  of  all  mezzotint  en- 
gravers, followed  now  one  and  again  the  other  method  with  perfect  free- 
dom of  choice,  believing,  evidently,  that  for  some  subjects  the  distinct 
and  heavily  etched  line  was  desirable,  while  for  others  ])ure  mezzotint  was 
|)referable.  In  his  landscai)e  engravings  from  Claude's  "Liber  Veritatis," 
Richard  Earlom  combined  etching  with  mezzotint,  but  in  the  majority  of 
his  engraved  portraits,  as  in  the  charming  portrait  of  a  boy  after  Rubens 
(Fig.  63),  he  confined  himself  to  pure,  or  nearly  pure,  mezzotint.  Such 
mezzotint  portraits  as  Earlom's  and  Green's  prove  these  engravers  to  have 
been  as  able  with  cradle  and  scraper  as  Sir  Joshua  and  Rubens  were  with 
the  brush, — a  fact  which  proves  their  claim  to  be  called  great  artists,  as 
like  fact  establishes  like  claim  in  the  case  of  Marcantonio;  i.e.,  the  power 
of  perceiving  tlie  distinctive  attributes  of  Raphael,  Rubens,  or  Sir  Joshua, 
and  the  ability  to  translate  the  originals  into  a  different  medium,  while 
making  the  translations,  if  not  perfect  counterparts  always  of  the  originals 
themselves,  fresh  originals.  An  analogy  will  help  to  make  the  meaning 
clearer.  At  the  end  of  the  fifth  canto  of  Dante's  "Hell,"  Francesca  is 
made  to  say:  "There  is  no  greater  woe  than  in  misery  to  remember  the 
happy  time."     Six  centuries  later  Tennyson  wrote: 

"That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things."" 

[  159  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

Call  this  a  translation  if  you  like,  and  many  do,  but  recognize  in  it  an 
original  work  of  art;  splendidly  truthful  thought,  expressed  by  Dante 
and  Tennyson  in  widely  differing  media,  in  different  languages,  different 


Fig.  63.      Mezzotint  by  Richard  Earlom. 

verse,  but  in  forms  of  equally  imperishable  beauty;  just  what  we  find  in 
Marcantonio's  engraving  of  Raphael's  "Poetry"  (Fig.  39);  in  Valentine 
Green's  and  Richard  Earlom 's  finest  mezzotints  after  the  portraits  of 
Rubens  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

[  160  ] 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TURNER,     "THE    LIBER    STUDIORUM,  " 
AND    WORDSWORTH 


I 


T  is  with  regret  that  we  must  pass  by,  without  more  than  mentioning 
their  names,  the  wonderful  portrait  engravers  of  France  in  the  seventeenth 
and  first  part  of  the  eighteenth  centuries,  Nanteuil  and  Edehnck  before 
others.  These  men,  great  as  they  are,  stand  below  Rembrandt,  Van 
Dyck,  and  probably  below  the  best  of  the  English  mezzotint  engravers. 
Further,  they  employed  no  new  methods.  For  this  reason  they  have 
been  left  out,  because  this  book  is  meant  to  be  introductory  to  the  gen- 
eral subject,  in  the  sense  that  it  introduces  the  reader  to  the  salient  prin- 
ciples of  the  art  of  engraving  in  its  most  essential  forms,  together  with 
that  art's  relation  to  drawing,  as  illustrated  by  a  few  of  the  works  of  the 
very  greatest  artists  who  were  themselves  engravers.  With  this  French 
group  must  be  named  the  important  etcher,  Jacques  Callot,  author  of  base 
as  well  as  wonderful  things  of  an  absolutely  unique  sort.  His  beggars, 
as  distinct  from  Rembrandt's  as  day  from  night,  are  none  the  less  marvels 
of  artistic  reality ;  works  of  the  highest  distinction  considered  as  drawings. 
So,  too,  his  prints  of  the  gypsies  with  whom  he  spent  much  time.  He  has 
been  rightly  called  the  "Dante  of  engravers, "  but  it  is  not  true,  as  many 
assume,  that  his  subjects  are  all  taken  from  the  distorted  visions  of  suffering 
humanity,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  did  depict  the  very  essence  of 
horror  and  much  that  is  loathsomely  repulsive.  If  he  drew  and  etched 
hell  he  also  recorded  heaven,  saints,  and  apostles  with  lovel}'^  and  exquisite 
touch  as  well  as  profound  sympathy.  We  must  also  pass  by  Hollar,  a 
seventeenth-century  etcher,  born  in  Prague,  who  did  much  of  his  work  in 
England,  and  who  is  to  this  day  unique  for  the  way  in  which  he  managed 
to  represent  textures,  the  individual  qualities  of  fur,  silk,  velvet,  lace,  or 
feathers. 

A  famous  eighteenth-century  group  of  English  engravers,  not  gen- 
iuses and  not  painter-gravers,  but,  nevertheless,  remarkable  artists  in  their 

[  161  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing"  and  Engraving" 

way  and  men  whose  works  yet  command  good  markets  and  high  lespect, 
is  headed  by  Sir  Robert  Strange,  William  Sharp,  and  William  Woollett. 
A'olpato,  Raphael  Morghen,  referred  to  at  the  outset,  and  Piranesi  make 
up  a  somewhat  similar  group  for  Italy  in  the  same  age.  But  more  impor- 
tant far  as  an  artist,  a  painter-graver  of  wonderful  though  often  subverted 
powers,  was  the  English  poet,  William  Blake.  Line  engraving,  which 
had  fallen  on  evil  days,  was,  in  great  measure,  restored  to  its  true  dignity 
by  this  strange  eighteenth-century  genius,  seer,  and  inventor,  in  whose 
works  the  heights  of  beauty  and  the  depths  of  madness  are  equally 
touched.  His  ''Book  of  Job"  illustrations  are  among  the  most  notable 
works  of  modern  line  engraving.  As  drawing  (Fig.  2)  they  are  on  a  par 
with  the  work  of  Botticelli  (Fig.  16),  though  representative  of  a  genius 
as  unlike  his  as  day  is  unlike  night. 

Wood  engraving,  likewise  fallen  on  evil  days,  or,  to  speak  more  ac- 
curately, almost  forgotten,  was  lifted  once  more  to  its  rightful  place  by 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  men  and  an  artist,  at  times,  truly  great, 
Thomas  Bewick.  He  not  only  revived  but  he  revolutionized  wood  engrav- 
ing, the  very  process  of  it.  Bewick  made  use  of  the  white  line  already  re- 
ferred to  in  connection  with  fifteenth-century  crible^  (Fig.  19).  He  gave 
the  ' '  white  line ' '  its  vogue  in  modern  wood  engraving  and  himself  pro- 
duced an  enormous  number  of  extremely  fine  prints  which  are  masterly 
drawings,  every  one  of  them.  Among  these  are  the  illustrations  to 
"British  Birds  and  Quadrupeds."  The  point  of  the  "white  line"  is  this: 
On  an  engraved  wood  block  the  surface  carries  the  ink  and  does  the 
printing.  The  lines  or  spaces  cut  in,  carry  no  ink,  hence  print  white,  in 
the  sense  of  not  printing  at  all;  i.e.,  leave  w^hite  paper.  The  procedure 
of  the  wood  engraver  when  he  is  using  the  "white  line"  is  the  same  as 
that  of  the  metal  engraver.  He  incises  his  design.  The  ])rocedure  of 
printing  a  wood  block,  so  engraved  or  cut,  is  the  same  as  that  usual  in 
printing  a  wood  block,  namely,  from  the  surface.  This,  the  surface, 
prints  black  because  it  carries  the  ink,  while  the  incised  lines  print  white ; 
in  other  words,  do  not  print  at  all.  The  result  is  a  design  printed,  as  if 
drawn,  in  white  lines  on  black  paper. 

Of  the  great  moderns.  Whistler,  as  many  believe,  in  the  class  with 
Rembrandt,  and  Sir  Seymour  Haden,  Charles  Meryon,  Samuel  Palmer, 
in  the  high  places  of  the  near-great, — Millet  might  be  placed  with  AVhistler 

^See  pages  75,  76. 

[  162  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 

but  for  the  meagre  sum  of  his  accompHshment,  under  twenty  plates, — of 
these  men  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  say  anything.  It  is  a  matter  of 
regret  to  pass  them  by,  yet  they  do  not  occupy  a  fundamental  place  in  an 
introduction  of  the  sort  planned.  Of  the  author's  humility  no  more  com- 
plete proof  can  be  made  than  his  urging  the  reader  of  these  pages  to  un- 
dertake at  once  the  six  lectures  which  Ruskin  delivered  on  "Engraving, 
Wood  and  Metal,"  before  the  University  of  Oxford  in  1872.  They  are 
as  brilliant  as  jewels  and  as  clear  as  mountain  spring  water.  They  sparkle 
with  wit ;  wit  which  is  at  once  wisdom  and  humor,  and  they  are  as  earnest 
as  human  sincerity  can  make  the  opinions  of  men.  They  have  style,  in 
that  they  are  veritably  of  the  man  himself,  a  very  wonderful  man;  no 
other  like  him  in  his  day  save  Carlyle;  few  like  him  in  any  day.  Who- 
ever reads  "Ariadne  Florentina"  understandingly  will  learn  a  vast  deal 
about  the  arts  of  engraving  and  drawing  in  particular,  as  well  as  about  art 
in  general.  Its  value  far  outweighs  many  a  learned  compilation  of  bare 
facts  about  art,  no  matter  how  accurate  or  how  newly  discovered.  What 
"Ariadne  Florentina"  does  is  to  beget  real  enthusiasm  for  the  arts  of  en- 
graving and  drawing  in  particular,  and  for  art  in  general ;  a  highly  desir- 
able thing  which,  under  the  German  influence  of  recent  years,  has  come 
to  be  regarded  as  uncritical  and,  worse  still,  unlearned.  It  is  not  new 
attributions,  or  more  knowledge  as  to  ancient  methods,  or  fresh  discovery 
about  the  history  of  art,  important  as  these  are,  that  the  present  age 
needs.  What  it  cries  for,  often  unknowingl}^  is  the  sort  of  teachers  who 
shall  beget  in  it  a  passion  for  beauty  through  showing  it,  "with  cause," 
what  and  where  beauty  may  be  found  both  in  nature  and  in  art,  which  is, 
as  the  great  poet  said,  the  "child  of  nature";  men  who  believe  that  the 
joys  of  art  like  the  joys  of  nature  are  the  rightful  inheritance  of  us  all; 
men  who  shall  do  much  to  bring  such  beliefs  to  fruit;  such  men,  pre- 
eminently, as  John  Ruskin  and  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 

The  subject  of  the  present  chapter  is  nineteenth-century  English  land- 
scape as  represented  in  etching,  engraving,  and  mezzotint,  hence  drawing, 
and  as  practiced  by,  in  many  respects,  the  greatest  landscape  painter  who 
has  yet  looked  with  delighted  eyes,  understanding  mind,  and  loving  heart 
on  earth  and  sky  and  sea,  Joseph  Mallord  William  Turner,^  who  was  born 
in  1775  and  died  in  1851.      In  1777  there  appeared  what  is  known  as 

'A.  J.  Finberg,  than  whom  nobody  in  recent  years,  and  one  or  two  only  in  years  past,  has  so  pro- 
foundly understood  Turner,  speaks  of  "his  incomparable  technical  skill,  his  boundless  energy,  and  the 
infinite  variety  of  his  mind." 

[  163  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

Claude's  "Liber  Veritatis. "  It  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  pub- 
lication of  Claude  Lorrain's  composition  book,  not,  in  the  usual  sense,  a 
sketch-book.  Be  it  remembered  that  Claude  in  his  own  day  was  greatly 
the  fashion  and  that,  after  his  death,  his  vogue  increased.  In  order  to 
protect  himself  against  copyists  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making  slight 
records  of  his  finished  pictures  before  he  parted  with  them.  These  records 
were  made  in  line  and  wash  and  their  chief  purpose  was  to  establish  iden- 
tification. In  a  word,  they  were  drawings ;  shorthand  transcripts  of  his 
finished  pictures;  objects  which  recorded  faithfully  the  composition  of  his 
pictures  both  in  regard  to  shapes,  placement  of  shapes,  and  chiaroscuro, 
done  in  line  and  monochrome.  Bound  together  they  make  up  what  is  known 
as  the  "Liber  Veritatis,"  book  of  truth  to  nature,  as  it  came  to  be  re- 
garded. It  was  clearly  a  collection  made  and  kept  for  the  artist's  per- 
sonal use ;  primarily  for  the  verification  of  his  own  much-sought  paintings, 
which  were  often  counterfeited.  There  is  no  reason  for  supposing  that 
Claude  ever  thought  of  these  volumes  as  having  intrinsic  or  special  artistic 
value.  But  everything  of  Claude's  in  the  hundred  years  subsequent  to 
his  death  took  on  especial  value;  much  of  it  justly.  In  1777  these  com- 
positions were  published  in  book  form,  translated  into  etching  and  mez- 
zotint. There  were  two  hundred  in  all.  Ultimately  they  found  their 
way  into  the  Duke  of  Devonshire's  collection.  Richard  Earlom  got  them 
ready  for  publication,  himself  doing  a  large  share  of  the  actual  work  of 
etching  and  mezzotinting.  As  examples  of  this  branch  of  engraving  they 
represent  one  of  the  undoubtedly  greatest  men  who  has  devoted  his  life  to 
landscape  art. 

The  English  painter,  Turner,  was  born  only  two  years  before  Claude's 
book  was  published.  In  landscape  Claude  represents  the  classical ;  the 
beauties  of  nature  set  into  compositions  of  artificially  exquisite  balance 
and  rhythm.  He  thought  of  landscape,  the  face  of  nature  as  embel- 
lished by  art  before  it  could  become  the  proper  subject  for  pictures. 
Elegance  is  the  watchword  of  Claude's  school,  as  it  was  of  Claude  him- 
self. Gracefulness,  with  undeniable  artificiality,  cast  into  the  forms  and 
aspects  of  nature,  especially  Italian  nature,  was  Claude's  forte.  Genius 
he  was  beyond  all  doubt,  but  his  interests  were  narrowly  centered  and  he 
had  no  very  broad  variety  of  likings.  Rough  nature,  one  is  tempted  to 
say  natural  nature,  Claude  cared  little  for.  His  very  soul  was  classic. 
He  sought  to  express  the  spirit  of  classicism  in  terms  of  nature  not  in- 

[  164  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 

frequently  used  as  the  setting  for  the  actual  remains  of  classical  Roman 
art.  Views  of  the  actual  Roman  Campagna  alternate  with  imaginary 
compositions,  "ideal  compositions''  they  would  have  been  called  in 
Claude's  day,  throughout  his  work.  His  art  was  very  popular  in  Eng- 
land and  had  been  the  absolute  standard  of  excellence  and  exclusive  taste 
for  the  better  part  of  a  century,  when  the  "Liber  Veritatis"  appeared. 
This,  of  course,  spread  knowledge  of  him  broadcast;  before  this  it  had 
been  confined  to  the  few  and  wealthy  who  could  afford  his  pictures.  Now 
he  became  not  only  an  absolute  but  a  universal  standard  of  excellence  and 
a  prime  requisite  for  people  of  taste.  In  other  words,  by  1800  his  repu- 
tation was  enormous  and  nothing  that  varied  with  the  subjects  which  he 
painted,  or  the  style  in  which  he  painted  them,  would  pass  muster  with 
the  critics  and  the  connoisseurs.  We  should  remember  that  Claude  was 
all  that  his  admirers  thought  him  to  be,  but  we  ought  also  to  remember 
that  his  interest  in  nature  was  not  catholic  or,  perhaps,  even  broad.  The 
man's  own  very  greatness  had  the  effect  of  narrowing  other  men's  breadth 
of  likings  and  sources  of  enjoyment  in  the  natural  world.  This  is  not,  of 
course,  uncommon.  "Apollo  and  the  Muses  on  Parnassus"  (Fig.  17)  is  a 
v^ery  characteristic  example  of  Claude's  manner  of  composing;  a  drawing 
full  of  exquisite  accuracies  to  the  physical  facts  of  the  subject,  but,  further, 
imbued  with  such  surpassing  grace  and  harmonious  rhythm  as  constitute 
it  a  work  sui  generis.  Beyond  question  does  it  recall  Raphael's  well- 
known  "Parnassus"  in  the  Vatican,  yet  in  no  sense  is  it  a  copy. 

The  classical  Claude  is  analogous  to  the  seventeenth-century  poet, 
Bolton,  in  such  verses  as — 

"  The  summer  sun  hath  gilded  fair 

With  morning  raA'S  the  mountains ; 
The  birds  do  carol  in  the  air, 

And  naked  nNinphs  in  fountains; 


All  breathe  delight,  all  solace  in  the  season : 
Not  now  to  sing,  were  enemy  to  reason." 

Compare  this  with  the  "Yew  Trees"  of  Wordsworth,  the  very  essence 
of  thoughtful  and  romantic  art : 

"  Those  fraternal  four  of  Borrowdale, 

Joined  in  one  solemn  and  capacious  grove; 

[  165  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving' 

Huge  trunks !    and  each  particular  trunk  a  growth 

Of  intertwisted  fibres  serpentine 

Up-coihng,  and  inveterately  convolved ; 

Nor  uninformed  with  Phantasy,  and  looks 

That  threaten  the  profane; — a  pillared  shade, 

Upon  whose  grassless  floor  of  redbrown  hue, 

By  sheddings  from  the  pining  umbrage  tinged 

Perennial!}' — beneath  whose  sable  roof 

Of  boughs,  as  for  festal  purpose,  decked 

With  unrejoicing  berries — ghostly  Shapes 

May  meet  at  noon-tide;   Fear  and  trembling  Hope, 

Silence  and  Foresight ;  Death  the  Skeleton 

And  Time  the  Shadow ; — there  to  celebrate, 

As  in  a  natural  temple  scattered  o'er 

With  altars  undisturbed  of  mossy  stone. 

United  worship  ;  or  in  mute  repose 

To  lie,  and  listen  to  the  mountain  flood 

Murmuring  from  Glaramara's  inmost  caves." 

It  is  rare  when  a  prophet  in  art,  or  a  withdrawer  from  the  customary 
course  of  procedure,  is  received  with  any  degree  of  public  favor;  much 
more  rare  if  he  receives  the  favor  of  the  critics.  So  it  was  when,  in  the 
opening  years  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Turner  began  to  show  his  pic- 
tures ;  works  of  art  that  were  at  once  prophecy  and  the  denial  of  existing 
canon.  And  so  it  happened  that  this  new  painter  received  a  full  meed  of 
dispraise  and  was  stoned  like  many  another  Stephen  of  painting  and  of 
poetry,  by  critic,  connoisseur,  and  dilettante,  through  the  press  and  in 
private.  But  that  Turner  did  not  receive  tremendous  recognition  in  high 
and  discriminating  praise,  and  in  large  money  returns  for  his  work,  before, 
as  Ruskin  says,  "it  was  too  late  for  him  to  care,"  is  not  true.  The  fact 
is  that  Turner,  the  man,  was  an  "odd  stick"  and  simply  did  not  choose  to 
recognize  the  praise  which  was  showered  on  him  for  years  before  his 
death.  Further,  this  same  Turner  was  a  man  possessed  of  a  ver}^  demon 
of  work,  to  exorcise  which  he  shunned  the  usual  paths  of  social  inter- 
course, devoting  all  his  time  to  his  profession ;  to  work  in  which  he  found 
his  own  reward  and  for  which  he  got  the  reward  of  an  honestly  earned 
fortune,  and  upon  which  now  rests  the  practically  undisputed  reputation 
of  being  the  greatest  of  landscape  painters. 

[  166  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 

Turner  looked  at  nature  much  as  Wordsworth  did.  Theirs  was  the 
romantic  point  of  view.  To  see  nature  as  it  is  and,  in  art,  to  represent  it 
as  it  is,  not  as  it  appears  to  the  reflecting  lens  of  the  camera  but  as  it  ap- 
pears to  the  reflecting  mind  of  man, — this  was  what  these  two  men  did, 
each  a  transcendently  great  artist;  each  laughed  at  when  he  first  appeared ; 
each  now  securely  niched  in  the  only  real  temple  of  fame,  the  gratefully 
and  truly  appreciative  minds  of  many  men  whose  numbers  augment  as 
the  years  pass.  Each  was  a  true  poet  because  he  looked  on  the  ordinary 
and  the  commonplace  scenes  and,  in  them,  saw  extraordinary  and  unusual 
sights  and,  to  the  rank  and  file  of  men,  unsuspected  meanings.  And  all 
this  they  couched  in  recognizable  shapes  and  colors,  or  ordinary  and  usual 
words,  Turner  and  Wordsworth  producing  pictures  and  poems  that  are  to 
the  realities  of  this  world  as  visions  of  another  world ;  of  beauty,  grandeur, 
awfulness,  such  as  really  exist,  but  which  are  no  more  to  be  recognized 
by  the  commonplace  eye  than  they  are  to  be  understood  by  the  mediocre 
mind.  Into  the  natural  light  of  the  sun  they  infused  the  light  of  sympa- 
thetic understanding  and,  to  them,  in  this  combined  light  the  world  stood 
forth  and  was  revealed.  To  shed  light  upon  a  subject  is  as  common  an 
expression  as  is  the  act  of  letting  light  in  at  a  window,  but  it  is  a  far  less 
common  thing  to  see  done  and  it  is  a  far  more  difficult  thing  to  do. 
Turner  and  Wordsworth  accepted  every  visual  aspect  of  nature,  from  the 
calm  of  a  summer's  day  to  the  gale  on  a  winter's  sea;  saw,  and  in  their 
art  represented  it  as  it  appeared  in  the  light  of  common  day ;  saw,  and  in 
their  art  represented  it  as  it  appeared  to  their  own  illumined  understand- 
ings. They  did  what  Emerson  means  when  he  says:  "I  think,  if  I  were 
professor  of  Rhetoric, — teacher  of  the  art  of  writing  well  to  young  men, — 
I  should  use  Dante  for  my  text-book.  Come  hither,  youth,  and  learn 
how  the  brook  that  flows  at  the  bottom  of  your  garden,  or  the  farmer  who 
ploughs  the  adjacent  field  .  .  .  are  the  very  best  basis  of  poetry,  and 
the  material  which  you  must  work  up.  .  .  .  Yet  is  not  Dante  reason 
or  illumination  and  that  essence  we  were  looking  for,  but  only  a  new  ex- 
hibition of  the  possibilities  of  genius?"  The  same  idea  as  to  the  proper 
substance  for  art,  the  proper  study  of  the  true  artist,  is  expressed  by 
Kingsley  in  "Alton  Locke"  when  he  puts  these  words  into  the  mouth  of 
Sandy  Mackaye  as  they  look  down  the  city  alley:  "Say  how  ye  saw  the 
mouth  o'  hell,  and  the  twa  pillars  thereof  at  the  entry,  the  pawnbroker's 
shop  on  the  one  side  and  the  gin  palace  on  the  other — two  monstrous 

[  167  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

devils  eating  up  men,  women  and  bairns,  body  and  soul.  Look  at  the 
jaws  of  the  monsters  how  they  oj)en  and  open  to  swallow  in  anither  and 
anither.  Write  about  that."  The  fact  is  that  no  great  artist  ever  feels 
the  need  of  going  far  afield  for  subjeet-matter.  At  least  if  he  cannot  find 
subject-matter  in  the  countryside  at  home  and  the  men  and  women  about 
him  it  is  certain  he  will  not  abroad.  Preeminently  true  of  Dante  and 
Chaucer,  this  is  ecjually  true  of  Diirer,  Rembrandt,  Turner,  and  Words- 
worth. Of  the  last  two,  one  wrote  and  the  other  jjainted  as  if  indeed 
"another  sun  had  been  added  to  the  heavens  at  mid-noon."  It  is  not 
difficult  to  understand  how  such  a  pair  of  true  universalists,  artists  really 
catholic  in  their  breadth  of  interest  in  natural  scenery  as  affected  by  nat- 
ural phenomena, — how  such  artists  flashed  as  a  great  discord  on  eyes  used 
to  Claude's  mellow  elegance,  with  all  its  beauty  and  all  its  artificiality; 
how  such  men  agonized  the  ears  and  artistic  sensibilities  of  minds  and  un- 
derstandings attuned  to  the  elegant  Pope,  and  the  still  more  elegant  Gray. 
To  the  Claude-trained  artist  and  the  Claude-trained  critic  who,  as  is 
natural  with  all  the  truly  orthodox,  hated  to  change,  or  even  hear  change 
mentioned,  and  who  believed  that  "whatever  is,  is  right,"  and  for  whom 
any  long-accepted  opinion,  doctrine  or  practice,  had  the  authority  of  a 
creed  in  proportion  as  it  had  been  held  a  shorter  or  a  longer  time  and  by 
less  or  more  men, — to  such  artists  and  to  such  critics,  and  to  the  public 
for  whom  such  artists  painted  and  to  whom  such  critics  dictated,  Turner's 
advent  seemed  a  menace.  He  was  a  breaker  with  tradition.  He  was  an 
overturner  of  accepted  truths.  He  was  as  Luther,  or  Channing,  or  Lin- 
coln. First  of  all,  not  being  understood  he  was  accused  of  every  sort  of 
artistic  vice,  heresy,  and,  at  last,  insanity.  This  is  the  usual  method  of 
attacks  aimed  at  radicals  in  any  field  of  human  effort ;  the  mother  church 
used  it  on  Luther;  the  orthodox  believers  of  New  England  used  it  on 
Channing ;  the  English  church  used  it  on  James  Martineau ;  a  great  party 
used  it  on  Lincoln ;  no  one  of  whom  ever  had  perfection  claimed  for  him, 
much  less  claimed  it  for  himself,  but  each  one  of  whom  did  something, 
much,  to  weaken  the  shackles  of  hidebound  thinking  and  increase  the 
areas  of  human  sympathy  and  understanding,  in  the  end  making  men 
freer  intellectually  and  spiritually.  And  this  is  just  what  Turner  did, 
and  Wordsworth.  We  do  not  say  that  either  was  perfect  in  his  art,  any 
more  than  we  would  maintain  that  Luther,  Channing,  Martineau,  or 
Lincoln  was  always  and  absolutely  right.      What  we  do  say,  and  now,  of 

[  168  ] 


Turner y  ''The  Liber  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 

course,  in  Turner's  case  as  in  Wordsworth's,  just  as  in  the  cases  of  the 
other  men  named, — what  we  do  say  is  this:  Turner  and  Wordsworth  in 
their  respective  ways  did  an  enormous  amount  to  open  wider  men's 
eyes  to  the  meanings  of  nature,  its  grandeur,  beauty,  awfuhiess,  and 
gentle  loveUness;  did  a  vast  deal  towards  increasing  freedom  of  thought, 
and  feeling,  and  deepening  emotion  in  the  presence  of  the  wonderful 
world  of  nature,  which,  the  more  it  is  understood  the  more  of  true  rever- 
ence accrues  to  the  human  race,  that  saving  grace  which  it  is  the  twin 
duty  and  glory  of  art  and  science  to  bestow;  pure  art  and  pure  science 
given  visible  body,  so  to  speak,  in  the  Tyndalls  and  the  Huxleys,  the 
Wordsworths  and  the  Turners. 

And  now  to  some  of  the  things  which  Turner  did,  for  the  doing  of 
which  he  found  engraving,  etching,  and  mezzotint  engraving  in  partic- 
ular, a  satisfactory  medium;  especially  to  Turner's  great  landscape  book, 
the  "Liber  Studiorum,"  which  was  intended,  as  the  prospectus  said,  "to 
attempt  a  classification  of  the  various  styles  of  landscape,  viz.,  the  his- 
toric, mountainous,  pastoral,  marine,  and  architectural";  a  book  of  ex- 
amples, intended  to  rival  and  to  surpass  Claude's  "Liber  Veritatis,"  as 
it  did,  and  for  that  matter  as  it  does  all  works  of  landscape  which  the 
world  has  seen.  Such  is  the  consensus  of  opinion.  It  is  expressed  ade- 
quately by  Norton:  "The  collection  of  engravings  from  designs  by 
Turner  known  as  the  'Liber  Studiorum,'  or  book  of  studies,  is  probably 
the  work  on  which,  hereafter,  the  fame  of  the  greatest  of  landscape  paint- 
ers will  mainly  rest,  and  from  which  the  student  will  mainly  gather  the 
fullest  and  most  exact  conception  of  the  nature  of  his  unparalleled  genius." 

Taking  the  plates  of  the  "Liber"  as  a  whole, — seventy-one  finished, 
twenty  partly  so,  and  the  balance,  nine,  of  the  projected  hundred  that 
was  to  make  up  the  full  set, — looked  upon  as  a  whole.  Turner's  "Liber" 
is  the  most  insistent  and  best  illustrated  protest  ever  made  against  all 
forms  of  denial  of  the  doctrine  that  art  is  "based  on  nature  and  must  in  a 
sense  be  true  to  her."  The  "Liber  Studiorum"  is  a  work  of  scientific 
accuracy  in  the  way  that  it  sets  forth  the  facts  of  actual  landscape  in  their 
natural  order  and  combinations,  and  in  their  most  literal  aspects.  It  is 
among  the  most  powerful  of  preachments  on  the  artistic  necessity  of 
truth,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  sense,  to  the  everyday  and  commonplace 
aspect  of  the  world  of  clouds  and  water,  calm  or  rough;  of  earth,  fertile 
or  barren,  in  moistest  lowland  meadow  or  among  the  frozen  peaks  of  the 

[  169  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

highest  mountains.  The  unswerving  text  of  the  "Liber"  is  this:  "the 
world  thus  and  so  and  not  otherwise."  In  the  drawing  of  mountain 
scenery,  Turner's  "Mer  de  Glace"  (Fig.  4),  for  example,  the  physical,  the 
geologic  formation  of  the  precipices  and  the  ice,  with  the  light  and  shade  of 
their  own  making  and  their  own  reflecting  upon  them,  and  that  endless 
distance  on  and  up,  in  which  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven,  fact  is  set 
forth  with  no  less  precision  than  it  is  in  many  a  page  of  Tyndall.  Hear 
Tyndall's  words, — they  are  from  that  wonderful  book  which  proves  fact 
to  be  stranger  than  fiction,* — while  you  are  looking  at  Turner's  lines: 
"The  sun  shone  gloriously  upon  the  mountains.  .  .  .  Traces  of  snow 
clung  to  the  mountains,  exposing  here  and  there  high  vertical  sections, 
which  cast  dense  shadows  upon  the  adjacent  plateaux.  The  glacier  was 
thrown  into  heaps  and  'hummocks,'  their  tops  glistening  with  white  sil- 
very light  and  their  sides  intensely  shaded. ' '  A  little  later  he  speaks  of 
"vast  ice  cascades,  resembling  the  foam  of  ten  Niagaras  placed  end  on 
end  and  stiffened  into  rest."  In  the  same  spirit  of  scientific  accuracy  to 
fact,  the  peer  of  Turner  and  the  like-minded  of  Tyndall,  Wordsworth, 
speaks  of  a  cascade  "frozen  by  distance."  Truth  is  what  they  are  all 
three  after  and  will  have  at  any  cost,  knowing — which  is  the  quintessential 
soul  of  art  and  of  science — knowing  for  certain  that  no  price  paid  for  truth 
can  be  too  great,  or  ever  has  been,  because  the  thing  purchased  has  ever- 
lasting value.  It  matters  little  if  these  three  men  found  each  a  different 
medium  for  his  expression  of  faith  in  his  mistress,  nature,  Leonardo's 
"mistress  of  all  high  intelligences,"  and  a  different  purpose  for  his  ex- 
pressions. It  is  truth,  scientific  as  well  as  artistic,  which  we  have  in 
Turner's  picture,  Wordsworth's  poetry,  Tyndall's  prose.  Their  aim  is 
identical.  It  is  lovely  Catholic  St.  Francis's  praise  in  his  "Canticle  to 
the  Sun"  :  "Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  mother,  the  earth;  for  our  sis- 
ter, water;  for  our  brother,  the  wind."  It  is  Protestant  Milton's  "to 
justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man."  It  is  the  way  of  Wordsworth  looking 
at  an  Alpine  pass  and  one  by  one,  word  for  word,  as  Turner  line  for  line, 
setting  down  the  "black  drizzling  crags,"  the  "giddy  prospect,"  "the  nar- 
row rent,"  "the  immeasurable  height,"  "the  unfettered  clouds  and  region 
of  the  Heavens."  It  is  Tyndall's  way.  His  very  words  are:  "Over  the 
peaks  and  through  the  valleys  the  sunbeams  poured,  unimpeded  save  by 
the  mountains  themselves,  which  sent  their  shadows  in  bars  of  darkness 

1"  Excursions  in  the  Alps." 

[  no  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum/'  and  Wordsworth 

through  the  illuminated  air.  ...  I  opened  my  note  book  to  make  a 
few  observations,  but  soon  relinquished  the  attempt.  There  was  some- 
thing incongruous,  if  not  profane,  in  allowing  the  scientific  faculty  to  in- 
terfere where  silent  worship  seemed  the  'reasonable  service.'  "  It  is  the 
way  of  all  consummate  art  and  all  consummate  science ;  to  fear  no  ov  er- 
turn  of  custom,  or  doctrine,  or  belief,  no  matter  how  hallowed  by  time 
or  endeared  by  sentiment ;  to  fear  nothing  save  what  is  not  true ;  to  beget 
nothing  save  perfect  faith ;  to  end  nowhere  but  in  reverence,  open-eyed, 
broad-minded,  high-souled  reverence;  it  may  be  scientific,  or  it  may  be 
artistic,  or  it  may  be  religious ;  the  name-tag  is  of  little  consequence  pro- 
vided the  essential  thing,  the  metal  of  reverence,  rings  true.  And  so  the 
metal  of  Turner's  does  ring. 

But  while  the  "Liber  Studiorum"  is,  from  end  to  end,  one  grand 
protest  against  anything  in  art  which  is  not  the  statement  of  visual  and 
actual  fact,  a  work  of  single-hearted,  clear-headed,  and  accurately  com- 
prehended purpose  to  depict  by  vigorous  and  delicate  drawing  the  facts  of 
nature,  it  no  less  sings  the  mightiest  paean  yet  sung  to  pure  idealism,  in 
behalf  of  that  which  is  higher  than  fact,  namely,  meaning ;  the  bearing, 
the  significance,  of  all  the  tangible  facts  of  nature  in  the  intangible  but 
most  real  sphere  of  intellect  and  spirit.  It  is  as  if  art  and  science  on  their 
material  sides  were  creatures  speaking  different  languages,  but  on  their 
spiritual  sides  a  common  language.  In  application  by  the  ordinary  man, 
be  he  painter,  etcher,  sculptor,  geologist,  naturalist,  anatomist,  they  ap- 
pear, indeed  are,  far  apart,  even  antagonistic.  Both  alike  to  the  ordinary 
theologist  look  worldly,  and,  if  desirable,  of  no  really  great  importance. 
These  men,  the  useful  but  not  reasoningly  broad-minded,  speak  their  own 
language,  a  respectable  but  meagre  language  not  comprehended  by  their 
fellows,  and,  accordingly,  by  their  fellows  little  heeded  and  heavily  dis- 
counted. They  have  no  vision  of  the  totality  of  significances  as  they 
walk  through  life  unattended  by  vision,  their  eyes,  as  they  fancy,  on  the 
facts.  They  look  with  their  eyes,  not  through  them,  as  Blake  said ;  with 
their  eyes  but  not  their  minds,  hearts,  spirits,  souls.  Not  so  a  Turner, 
a  Rembrandt,  a  Tyndall,  a  Huxley,  a  Newton,  a  Martineau,  a  Lincoln. 
These  speak,  with  varying  fluency,  a  common  language ; — these  and  all  of 
their  ilk,  together  with  all  of  the  great  of  all  the  ages. 

The  "Liber  Studiorum"  is  a  book  of  landscape  studies  in  which  the 
real,  as  a  basis  and  the  sole  basis  for  the  ideal,  is  declared  to  be  Turner's 

[  171  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

doctrine  and  faith;  faith  and  doctrine  declared  in  his  works;  works  by 
which  all  caring  to  do  so  may  know  him.  For  it  he  first  made  a  set  of 
wash  drawings  in  sepia  over  ink  lines.  From  these  he  himself,  in  many 
instances,  etched  upon  the  copper  the  main  lines  of  the  composition.  If 
they  were  etched  by  other  men,  from  his  drawings,  he  stood  always  near 
by  to  assist  and  correct.     From  the  etched  plates  a  few  proofs  were  taken. 


.  ^  cC'^ .fJ 


Fig.  64.      Dumblain  Abbey.      Etching  by  Turner. 

Of  these  "Dumblain  Abbey"  (Fig.  64)  is  a  fine  example;  a  thing  in  it- 
self only  a  means  to  an  end,  but,  as  such,  intrinsically  precious  and  rare. 
Then,  to  the  etched  plate,  the  body  and  substance,  the  light  and 
shade  of  mezzotint  engraving,  was  added  a  thing  analogous  to  the  sepia 
wash  over  the  pen  lines  in  the  drawing.  This  work  was  done  largely  by 
other  hands  than  Turner's,  though  he  often  took  a  part  himself  and  was 
always  guarding  the  work  of  mezzotinting  with  his  presence  and  over- 
sight, in  the  shape  of  verbal  suggestion,  manual  assistance,  and  most  careful 

[  172  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum/'  and  Wordsworth 

wash  drawings  as  copies.  "Dumblain  Abbey"  (Fig.  65)  in  its  completed 
state,  with  the  mezzotint  chiaroscuro  added  to  the  etching  beneath,  is  a  char- 
acteristic instance.  It  is  the  equivalent  of  a  drawing ;  in  fact,  is  a  drawing. 
It  has  often  been  said  that  Turner  was  catholic  in  his  range  of  inter- 
ests and  of  understanding  in  respect  to  nature.  Other  great  landscape 
painters  have  been  masters  of  certain  aspects  of  nature,  certain  natural 
phenomena.     Turner  was  master  of  all.     Claude,  so  to  speak,  was  master 


Fig.  65.      Dumblain  Abbey.      Mezzotint.      Turner. 

of  calm  beauty,  viz.,  Parnassus  and  the  Muses  (Fig.  17);  Rembrandt,  of  the 
beauty  of  rough  and  homely  vigor,  viz.,  the  "Square  Tower"  (Fig.  53); 
Gainsborough,  of  undetailed  masses  of  foliage  and  trees,  seen  at  a  distance, 
and  of  clouds,  all  beautiful ;  Constable,  of  a  damp  luxuriance  and  of  deep 
shadows ;  Corot,  of  the  beauty  of  budding  and  early  blooming ;  Degas, 
of  clear  air;  and  other  famous  artists,  after  their  kind,  each  remarkable 
for  some,  or  perhaps  several  sorts  of  natural  beauty  made  permanent,  and 

[  173  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing  and  Engraving 

glossed,  in  the  terms  of  art.  But  Turner  was  master  of  all  these  and 
many  more;  of  all  that  Shelley  says  in  his  "Mont  Blanc": 

The  fields,  the  lakes,  the  forests  and  the  streams, 
Ocean,  and  all  the  living  things  that  dwell 
Within  the  da?dal  earth ;  lightning,  and  rain, 
Earthquake,  and  fiery  flood,  and  hurricane;" 

Of  all.  Turner  saw  the  beauty  and  grandeur  and  to  them  gave  preem- 
inence in  art,  especially  in  his  "Liber  Studiorum. "  He  understood  all 
these  things  literally,  and  he  made  use  of  them  imaginatively,  by  way  of 
setting  forth  his  own  thoughts  and  musings  about  grandeur  and  beauty, 
decay  and  growth,  life  and  death,  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  nature  and  the 
existence  of  man  as  affected  by  nature,  and  not  less  of  nature  as  it  is  af- 
fected by  the  existence  of  man. 

Turner's  plate  of  the  "Mer  de  Glace"  (Fig.  4)  does,  in  a  different 
medium,  what  the  closing  lines  of  Shelley's  "Mont  Blanc"  do,  i.e.,  gives 

' '  The  secret  strength  of  things 

Which  governs  thought,  and  to  the  infinite  dome 

Of  heaven  is  as  law,  inhabits  thee  ! 

And  what  were  thou,  and  earth,  and  stars,  and  sea. 

If  to  the  human  mind's  imaginings 

Silence  and  solitude  were  vacancy?" 

Out  of  silence  and  solitude,  and  out  of  the  hurricane  as  well,  the  man 
Turner  gathered  meanings.  He  breathed  into  his  work  "the  breath  and 
finer  spirit  of  all  knowledge."  He  draws  the  prose  of  nature,  her  visible 
shapes ;  he  draws  not  less  the  poetry  of  nature,  her  meanings,  and  her  he 
makes  her  own  expositor.  She  gives  to  him,  as  to  all  men,  what  he  is 
able  to  take  and  make  his  own;  what,  namely,  he  could  see  and  under- 
stand. And  he  could  see  and  understand  a  v  ast  deal  that  most  men  never 
see  or  understand,  and  thus,  in  his  works,  is  he  above  most  men ;  a  true 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  in  respect  to  all  that  concerns  nature. 

Look  at  his  ' '  Simplon  Pass ' '  (Fig.  66).  In  a  small  space,  and  with  lines 
only.  Turner  has  gotten  the  spirit  of  the  great  ravine ;  of  that  part  of 
the  face  of  nature  which,  in  very  truth,  did  speak  to  him  "rememberable 
things."  It  is  just  what  Wordsworth  got,  and,  in  art,  made  immortal 
in  "The  Prelude."     At  one  moment  Turner  is  the  embodiment  of  grace; 

[  174  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum/'  and  Wordsworth 


Figf.  66.      Simplon  Pass,      Turner. 


the  grace  of  reality,  seen  nowhere  more  clearly,  and  nowhere  more  won- 
derfully depicted,  than  in  the  unmatched  "Liber"  plate,  "Blair  Athol" 
(Fig.  G7),  Scotland.  At  another  moment  he  is  the  embodiment  of  rough 
strength — witness  the  towering  crags  and  the  sharp  ice  waves  of  the  "Mer 
de  Glace"  (Fig.  4).  Judged  solely  by  reason  and  logic  it  might  be  argued 
that  there  possibly  is  an  overgraceful,  at  least  unnaturally  graceful,  char- 
acter in  the  "Blair  Athol";  even  an  ugly  quality,  at  least  more  than 
homely,  in  the  "Mer  de  Glace."  But  in  matters  of  art  we  should  always 
deny  the  right  of  reason  and  logic  to  be  sole  judges;  to  be  most  helpful 
associate  judges,  yes;  to  be  final,  no;  thrice  no,  in  these  matters  which 
pertain  so  fundamentally  to  the  human  heart  and  human  imagination.    In 

[  175  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving 

such  connections,  in  the  last  reaction,  go  rather  with  De  Quincey  and 
say,  of  all  powers  put  least  trust  in  the  human  understanding.  For  all 
great  art  is  born  of  genius,  and  is  stamped  with  the  spirit  of  genius, 
Carlj^le's  "inspired  gift  of  God,"  which,  continuing,  he  says  "is  the 
clearer  presence  of  God  most  High  in  a  man.  Dim,  potential  in  all  men, 
in  this  man  it  has  become  clear,  actual";  in  this  man  Turner  whose 
drawings  done  with  the  etching  needle  and  the  rocker  we  are  examining. 


Fig.  67.      Blair  Athol.      Mezzotint.      Turner. 


Like  all  the  truly  great  he  neither  feared  the  commonplace  nor,  for  the 
sake  of  astonishing  any  one,  ever  sought  the  unusual.  As  the  former 
could  not  bore  him  the  latter  did  not  stun  him.  In  this  respect  he  is  the 
counterpart  of  Wordsworth,  of  Dante,  of  all  the  masters. 

Another  among  the  many  illustrations  that  might  be  brought  for- 
ward to  establish  the  similarity  of  the  painter's  to  the  poet's  thought,  not 
to  mention  the  correspondence  between  their  choice  of  natural  forms  in 
which  to  clothe  their  thoughts,  is  Turner's  oft-repeated  treatment  of  "Nor- 

[  176  ] 


Turner,  ''The  LAher  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 

ham  Castle"  (Fig.  68),  the  subject  of  one  of  the  plates  of  the  "Liber 
Studiorum. "  There  the  castle  stands,  a  lofty  pile  of  ruinous  masonry, 
towering  black  against  the  light  of  a  setting  sun.  The  rays  pour  through 
its  vacant  windows  like  fire.  In  the  quiet  water  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
the  herd  is  drinking,  and  a  fisherman  draws  his  net,  heedless  alike  of 
nature's  glory  or  man's  pride.  The  picture  might  well  bear  the  title  of 
\Vordsworth's    sonnet,    "Mutability,"    and    not    less    certainly    do    its 


Fig.  68,      Norham  Castle.      Mezzotint.      'I'urner. 

chiaroscuro  and  forms  breathe  the  thoughts  of  the  poet-painter  than  the 
words  declare  the  ideas  of  the  poet-writer: 

"  From  low  to  hi^h  doth  dissolution  cliinb, 
And  sink  from  high  to  low,  along  a  scale 
(Jf  awful  notes,  whose  concord  shall  not  fail ; 
A  musical  hut  melancholy  chime, 


Truth  fails  not;   but  her  outward  forms  that  bear 
The  longest  date  do  melt  like  frosty  rime, 


[  177  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving" 

drop  like  the  tower  sublime 
Of  yesterday, 

but  could  not  sustain 


The  uninia(>;inable  touch  of  Time.  " 

I^et  us  look  at  still  another  illustration,  but  of  quite  a  different  sort, 
of  the  resemblance  of  the  painter's  view  of  life  and  his  expression  of  it,  to 
the  poet's,  "Dumblain  Abbey"  (Fig.  (S5).  If  ever  a  picture  deserved  to 
be  called  cheerful,  surely  this  one  does.  The  lovely  hill  swathed  in  plumy 
verdure,  the  water  below  mirroring  the  forest  of  the  upper  air,  and,  over 
all,  the  light  of  a  wonderfully  luminous  sky,  give,  in  the  painter's,  the 
painter-graver's  terms  what  Wordsworth's  lines  express: 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  and  silent  day 

That  overspread  the  countenance  of  earth. 

Then  fading  with  unusual  quietness, — 

A  da}'  as  beautiful,  as  e'er  was  ^iven 

To  soothe  regret,  though  deepening  what  it  soothed. ' ' 

In  both  these  instances  the  effect  is  gained  by  exquisite  gradation; 
by  marvelous  technique  of  mezzotint.  But  as  surely  as  the  last  two  lines 
introduce  the  poet's  real  theme,  just  so  does  the  presence  of  a  ruined  ab- 
bey, amid  the  peace  and  light  of  Turner's  study,  announce  the  painter's 
theme.  In  both  cases  there  is  more  than  an  exquisite  account  of  nature 
for  him  who  studies  them;  an  "open  sesame,"  as  it  were,  through  the 
works  of  two  great  men  to  their  great  hearts.  In  Turner's  study  the 
hill  is  crowned  by  the  vacant  walls  and  unroofed  nave  of  the  devastated 
abbey.  It  speaks  of  the  wrecking  power  of  time,  of  the  fanaticism  of  be- 
liefs, of  the  painfull}^  enduring  nature  of  material  things.  Beneath,  upon 
the  margin  of  the  water,  women  are  treading  clothes  and  spreading  linen 
to  dry,  while  one  holds  an  infant  in  her  arms.  These  bespeak  two  great 
sources  of  human  happiness,  family  life  and  the  capacity  for  work.  Of 
these  women,  loving  and  busy  but  unmindful  of  the  presence  of  decay  in 
the  midst  of  a  scene  of  beauteous  light,  of  these  the  line  in  the  sonnet  on 
"Old  Abbeys"  might  be  spoken: 

"Untouched  by  due  regret  I  marked  your  fall!*' 

and  of  the  Abbey : 

"Once  je  were  holy,  ye  are  holy  still." 

[  ns  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum/'  and  Wordsworth 

The  universal  and  unchanging  character  of  his  subject,  as  ov^er  against 
the  chance  and  change  of  immediate  and  specific  aspects  of  it,  was  always 
sought  and  firmly  grasped  by  Turner.  No  work  of  his  more  fully  proves 
this  than  the  ' '  Mer  de  Glace ' '  (Fig.  4).  Picture  to  yourself  an  actual  scene 
akin  to  Turner's  glacier.  In  your  picture  all  the  debris  of  the  passing  sea- 
son and  the  present  moment  clutters  the  foreground  and  conceals  the  basic 
formation  of  the  mountains,  the  thing  that  remains  permanent  amidst  the 
flux  of  surface  growth  and  decay.  In  Turner's  picture  he  has  cleared  the 
ice  of  much  that  might  have  been  there,  but  would  have  concealed  its 
lines  and  surfaces  of  cleavage  and  breakage  under  pressure  in  a  mountain 
gorge.  So,  too,  the  precipices;  their  stratification  and  permanent  forms 
he  has  drawn  out,  as  it  were,  from  changeful  confusion,  and,  by  means  of 
his  art,  so  put  them  down  in  a  few  lines  which  express  universal  and  un- 
changing order.  He  has  looked  through  his  eye  and  also  with  it.  The 
result  is  great,  because  illuminating  as  well  as  descriptive,  drawing. 

So,  too,  in  the  "Fame  Island"  (Frontispiece),  a  "line  engraving" 
really  an  etching.  Here  it  is  the  universal  curvatures  of  waves  and  the 
smoothness  of  surfaces  swelling  to  their  crests ;  the  sharp  turn  of  crests 
and  curvatures  akin,  in  nature,  to  the  lines  taken  by  tendrils  and  fern 
fronds;  in  art,  to  the  bounding  lines  of  the  best  Greek  capitals  and  the 
best  Greek  figures  discussed  in  an  earlier  chapter.  In  this  particular 
drawing  we  have  perfect  abstraction  of  essentials  overlaid  with  every 
lovely  detail  of  surface  and  immediate  character ;  foam  and  spray ;  detail 
wholly  compatible  with  the  profound  abstraction ;  a  cleaving  to  the  essen- 
tials despite  details.  This  print  or  drawing  declares  a  mind  of  the  Michel- 
angelo type,  "voyaging  the  vast  abyss  of  thought  alone,"  and  making 
recognizable  expression  of  what  it  finds  in  the  vast  abyss  of  an  actual  gale- 
swept  sea  and  wind-torn  heaven,  wherein  the  physical  strength  of  man, 
his  wrecked  vessel,  is  told  of  no  less  than  the  intellectual  and  imaginative 
strength  of  man,  the  artist.  Turner.  Once  more  the  truth  of  Samuel 
Butler's  comment,  a  good  portrait  is  always  more  a  portrait  of  the  painter 
than  the  painted,  is  attested.  Facts,  few  and  carefully  selected ;  by  these, 
the  meaning  of  human  tragedy  and  human  weakness  conveyed  amid  an 
elemental  majesty.  It  is  as  epic  as  Homer,  not  more  so;  as  Dante,  not 
less  so.  It  is  great  art,  aiming  at  a  great  end  and  attaining  it.  Finally, 
it  is  the  work  of  a  translator-engraver,  Willmore ;  of  one  of  those  extraor- 
dinary  translator-engravers    whom  Turner  gathered    about  him  and  so 

[  179  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing'  and  Engraving- 

trained  that  at  last  each  one  became  almost  his  second  self  for  seeing  and 
feeling.  The  fact  of  this  school  of  Turner's  is  one  of  the  miracles  of  art. 
In  closing,  let  us  examine  the  plates  of  Rouen,  etching  for  the  most 
part,  graver-touched  in  places,  taken  from  the  volume  called  "Rivers  of 
France. ' '  The  first  (Fig.  69)  is  a  distant  view,  almost  maplike  with  its  sweep 
of  Seine  and  span  of  bridge ;  a  world-wide  view.  In  the  distance  the  cathe- 
dral towers  dominant,  tremendous,  as,  in  fact,  they  are.  Shut  out  from 
your  sight  those  black  poplars  in  the  near  corner,  and  learn  once  for  all 


Fijr.  69.      Rouen.      Turner. 


how  the  reality  of  physical  distance  can  be  made  convincing  reality  in  art. 
And  note,  too,  the  relation  of  these  same  tower-like  black  trees  to  the 
black  church  towers  of  the  distance.  For  close-knit  breadth  of  interest 
and  repose ;  for  the  universals  of  a  magnificent  country  beneath  the  un- 
fettered clouds  of  a  vast  expanse  of  sky,  this  little  thing  has  not  been  sur- 
passed, while  it  is  of  the  sort  very  rarely  approached,  let  alone  equalled. 
In  the  next  (Fig.  70)  of  the  same  set  we  have  left  the  hills,  crossed  the  plains, 
and  reached  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  just  under  those  same  towers, 

[  180  ] 


Turner,  ''The  Liber  Studiorum,"  and  Wordsworth 


Fig.  70.      Rouen.      Turner. 


more  dominant  yet,  and  mightier,  as  in  reality  they  do  become  on  near 
approach, — crowds,  shipping,  lofty  houses,  but  the  cathedral  over  all; 
breadth  and  repose  just  the  same,  and  permanence  amid  what  is  passing, 
the  stream  of  the  Seine  or  the  busy  life  of  men.  The  river  runs  to  the 
sea  and  men  their  "race  to  death,"  but  the  everlasting  hills  remain,  and 
the  cathedral  outlives  centuries.  Finally,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  market 
place  (Fig.  71)  under  the  great  front,  charged,  as  Ruskin  said,  "with  wild 
fancies  and  dark  hosts  of  imagery,  thicker  and  quainter  than  the  depth  of 
midsummer  dream ;  vaulted  gates  .  .  .  misty  masses  of  multitudinous 
pinnacle  and  diademed  tower;" — and  here,  too,  are  repose,  and  calm,  and 
permanence  amid  the  liveliest  activities  of  crowds  of  men  in  open  mar- 
ket ;  calm  and  repose  in  the  great  and  simple  masses  of  light  and  shade 
into  which  the  picture  is  divided,  and  within  these  masses  the  endless 
minutiae  of  the  most  ornate  of  building ;  in  a  word,  true  breadth  of  artistic 
treatment.  And,  dominating  all,  even  the  activity  of  the  market  crowds, 
calm  and  repose,  the  significance,  the  sameness,  and  the  variety  of  human 
life  as  it  flows  through  the  ages, — true  breadth  of  poetic  understanding. 
Sympathy  with  present  reality  and  the  serious  concerns  of  living ;  rever- 

[  181  ] 


Notes  on  Drawing"  and  Engraving' 

eiit  inspiration  in  the  presence  of  great  works,  the  witnesses  of  the  faith 
of  past  generations;  power  to  abstract  the  heart  of  his  subject  and  to 
clothe  his  abstraction  in  the  loveHest  concrete  characters ;  to  make  a  pic- 
ture which  all  will  recognize  and  be  pleased  with;  which  will  speak  "re- 
memberable  things"  to  those  who  have  eyes  for  such  things;  to  glorify 
man  and  see  his  right  place  in  the  visible  creation,  and  not  less  the  place 
of  nature ;  to  be  able  to  understand  the  speech  that  day  unto  day  utter- 
eth,  and  the  knowledge  that  night  unto  night  showeth;  to  do  all  these 


Fiff.  71.      Rouen.      Turner. 


things,  and  more,  is  the  business  of  great  art ;  to  set  them  forth  so  that 
the  characters  of  their  conveyance  shall  be  in  themselves  irresistibly  at- 
tractive and  easily  understood,  and  the  solemn  joys  and  endless  satisfac- 
tions which  they  offer,  free  to  all  men  in  degree  as  they  are  ready  to 
receive  them,  is  art.  All  this  is  within  the  scope  of  the  art  of  engraving, 
which  is  the  art  of  drawing,  abler  and  gentler  exponent  of  which,  among 
its  many  gentle  and  able  exponents  since  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, there  has  been  none  than  Turner,  and  only  now  and  then,  occa- 
sionally, through  all  that  time,  his  equal. 

[   182  ] 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Achilles^  shield  of,  43. 

Adam  and  Eve,  Diirer,  28,  32,  107,  110. 

tEsccus  and  Hesperie,  Turner,  143. 

Alfred,  King,  44. 

Alton  Locke,  169. 

Amelia  Elisabeth,  portrait  of,  155. 

Amiel,  156. 

Antique,  study  of,  94. 

Antique,  the,  71. 

Applause,  popular,  8. 

Appreciation,  artistic,  42. 

Appreciation,  relation  to  culture,  13. 

Appreciation,  true,  9. 

Ariadne  Florentina,  Ruskin,  165. 

Aristotle,  23. 

Ars  Moriendi,  80,  81. 

Art,  and  nature,  40,  41,  119. 

Aristotle,  23. 

Balance  in,  142. 

Basis  of  great,  69. 

Basis  of  judgment,  177. 

Breadth  in,  99. 

Christian,  Rembrandt,  134. 

Collectors,  149. 

Complexity  in,   143. 

Confusion  in,   143. 

Criticism  of,  7. 

Deceptive  realism  in,  100. 

Dutch,  99. 

Education,  154. 

Emotion  in,  28. 

End  of,  68. 

End  of,  Ruskin,  3. 

Essence  of,   52. 

Fact  in,  42,  173. 

Fine,  12. 

Flemish,  70,  72. 

Foundation  of,  Rossetti,  16. 


Art,  founded  on  nature,  41. 
German,  70,  72. 
German,  15th  century,  83. 
Gothic,  141. 
Graphic,  68. 
Great,  Ruskin,  17. 
Greek,  71. 

History  and  origins  of,  67. 
Hoarders,   149. 
Home  subjects,  104. 
Ideal,  71. 
Idealism,  173. 
Imagination  in,  117. 
Implication  of,  4. 
Innovator  in.  Turner,  168. 
Italian,  70. 

Landscape,  19th  century  English,  165. 
Language  of,  68. 
Less  than  nature,   117. 
Material  side  of,  14. 
Materials  of,  9,  16,  69. 
Mechanical,   12,    17. 
Methods  of,  16. 
Mission  of,  10. 
Modern,  23. 

More  than  nature,  71,  117. 
Not  always  beautiful,    14. 
Original,   161. 
Pattern  in,  117. 
Personal  equation,  154. 
Power  of,  41. 
Practice  of,  16. 
Processes  of,  16. 
Pure,   171. 
Real  work  of,   117. 
Reason  in,  28. 

Recent  German  influence,  165. 
Regard  for  exact  likeness,  72. 
Representative,  62;  of  nature,  151. 
Requisites  for  present  study,   165. 

183  ] 


Index 


Art,  rhythm  in,  112, 

Romantic,   141,   167. 

Significance  of  fact,  173. 

Specific  aspects  of,  181. 

Study  of,  12. 

Study  of,  Daniel  Deronda,  14. 

Subject  of,  20,  170. 

Sublime,  144. 

Test  of,   110. 

Tools  of,  69. 

Tradition  of  Greek,  70. 

Tradition  of  Roman,  70. 

Universal  aspects  of,  181. 

Value  of,   154. 

Value  of  inheritance  to,  87. 

Value  of  tradition  to,  87. 

Verisimilitude  of,   151. 

Work  of,  real  value  of,  48. 
Artificiality,   141. 
Artist,  his  own  time,  9. 
Artist,  inheritance,  70. 

Intention  of,  22. 

Life  in  two  worlds,  41. 

Mental  intention  of,  Goethe,  35. 

Prime  requisite  of,   148. 

Privileges  and  duties  of,  68. 

Proper  study  of,  169. 

Respect  for  materials,  72. 

Respect  for  tools,  72. 

Subject-matter,  170. 

Tradition,  70. 

True,  the,   15. 

What  he  does,  154. 
Assumption,  The,  Finiguerra,  51. 
Attica,  72. 
Augsburg,  116. 


B 


Bach,  134. 

The  Passion,  17. 
Balance,  in  art,  142. 
Baldini,  55,  57,  63. 
Bale,  116. 
Bartsch,  85,  111. 

Engravings  of  Mantegna,  95. 
Battersea  Bridge,  Whistler,  15. 
Beauty,  abstract,  141. 
Beethoven,  27,  134,  139. 

Ninth  Symphony,  17. 


Bellini,  103,  153. 

Bewick,  Thomas,   164. 

Biblia  Pauperum,  80,  81. 

Blair  Athol,  Turner,  15,  23,  177. 

Blake,  21,  62,  65. 

Book  of  Job,  164. 

Drawing,   164. 

Line,  30. 

On  seeing,  173. 
Block-books,  81. 

Flemish,  78,  80. 

German,  78,  80. 

Origin  of,  78. 
Bocholt,  88. 
Bologna,  110,  111. 
Bolton,  167. 

Botticelli,  30,  34,  53,  153. 
Botticelli-Baldini,  55,  88,  98. 

Drawings  164. 

Drawings   for   Divine   Comedy,   54,   57, 
59,  65. 

Engravings  for  the  Inferno,  54. 

Illustrator,  61, 

Subjects,  54. 

"The  Paradise,"  12. 
Bramante,  91. 
Brasses,  grave,  44. 
Breadth  and  detail,  104. 
Breadth,  meaning  of,  99. 
Brougham  Castle,  Turner,  156,  160. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  15. 
Browning,  71. 

Poetry,  40. 
Bruni,  94. 
Burin,  how  used,  47. 

Nature  of,  47. 

Schongauer's  use  of,  85. 
Burr,  136,  137,  155. 
Butler,  Samuel,  a  great  portrait,  139. 


Callot,  163. 

Camera,  tlie,  33. 

Candide,  39. 

Canticum  Canticorum,  80. 

Carlyle,   165. 

Genius,  178. 

Gifted  man,  132. 
Cartouche,  Diirer,  104. 
Cast,  of  niello  plate,  51. 


[    184 


Index 


Cato,  60. 
Channing,  170. 
Charles  I,  154. 
Chaucer,  170. 
Chelsea,  116. 
Chiaroscuro,  70. 
Chiron,  59. 

Christ,  9;  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Last  Sup- 
per, 41. 
Christianity,  Catholic,  corruption  of,  92. 
Classic,  meaning  of,  141. 
Classical,  the,  134. 
Classicism,  Raphael's,  141. 
Claude,  15,  17,  170. 

Classical  landscape,  166. 
Etchings,  142. 
Fete  champetre,  142. 
Liber  Veritatis,  159,  161,  166. 
^     Life  of,  142. 

Parnassus,  63,  167,  175. 
Standard  of  artistic  excellence,  167. 
Collectors,  art,  149. 
Columbus,  91. 
Comic,  the,  90. 
Commonplace,  the,  to  the  artist,  15. 

Treated  by  genius,  136. 
Composition,  118. 
Meaning  of,  52. 
Conqueror,  the,  44. 
Constable,  175. 
Convention,  33. 

The,  of  line,  150. 
Coppernol,  Rembrandt's  portrait  of,   189. 
Corot,  15,  41,  152,  175. 
Cow-herd,  the,  Claude's  etching,   142. 
Cram,  R.  A.,  154. 
Crible,  engraving,  164. 
Critics,  170. 

Two  types,  1. 
Criticism,  sane,  7. 
Crosshatching,  74. 
Culture,  42,  and  taste,  Pater,  8. 
Essence  of,  10. 
Witness  of,  13. 
Cuyp,  101. 

D 

Daguerre,  17. 

Discovery  of  photography,  15. 
Dance  of  Death,  Holbein,  116,  120,  121. 

[ 


Daniel  Deronda,  14. 
Daniel's  Vision,  Holbein,  118,  120. 
Dante,   139,   169,   170,   178,  181. 
Drawings  for,  Botticelli,  54,  65. 
Engravings  for  edition  of  1481,  57,  98. 
Genius,  7. 
Hell,  161. 
Da  Vinci,  Leonardo,  34,  151. 
And  nature,  41. 
Drawing  of,  31. 
Last  Supper,  17. 
Speaks  for  all,  10. 
Teachers  of,  48. 
Degas,  175. 
Dei,  Matteo,  48. 
Delacroix,  29. 
De  Morgan,  William,  5. 
De  Quincey,  Human  Understanding,  178. 
Design,  144. 

Definition  of,  117,  118. 
Meaning,  52. 
Desnoyers,  130,  131. 
Detail,  24. 

Detail  and  breadth,  104. 
Dodgson,  76,  77. 
Donatello,  69. 
Drawing,  aim  of  good,  68. 
A  means,  29. 
And  writing,  26. 
An  end,  29. 
Artistic  scope  of,  184. 
As  showing  artist's  intention,  68. 
Blake,  21,  164. 
Botticelli,  29,  59,   164. 
Chinese,  35. 

Da  Vinci,  Leonardo,  12,  33,  35. 
Definition,  26. 
Durer,  102,  104,  108. 
Fine  strokes,  73. 
Finiguerra's  Assumption,  51. 
Finished,  A,  132. 
For  its  own  sake,  91. 
Foundation  of  Art,  2. 
Free  hand,  27,  28. 
Genius,  41. 
Good,  53. 

Gothic,  homely  character  of,  84. 
Great,  31. 

Harrison,  Birge,  31. 
Heavy  lines,  73. 

185  ] 


Index 


Drawing,  Hind,  A.   M.,   on   Marcantonio, 
113. 

Holbein,  33. 

Identity  with  engraving,  147. 

Israhel  van  Meckenem,  83. 

Japanese,  35. 

Kunisada,  78. 

Literal  transcript,  38. 

Mantegna,   95. 

Mantegna,  use  of  line  and  shade,  99. 

Master,  E.  S.,  83. 

Mechanical,  27,  28. 

Medieval,  61. 

Melancholia,  30. 

Original,  value  of,  37. 

Outline,  19,  21. 

Place  in  Painting,  31. 

Precious  in  itself,  38. 

Primitive,  68. 

Prints  the  equivalent  of,  46. 

Raphael,  29. 

Relation  to  engraving,  10,  17. 

Relation  to  etching,  174. 

Relation  to  finished  picture,  37. 

Relation  to  mezzotint,  174. 

Relation  to  prints,  148. 

Relation  to  sculpture,  70. 

Rembrandt,  39,  135. 

Representation  of  textures,  89. 

Ruisdael,   146. 

Schongauer,  85. 

Simplicity,  65. 

Sound,  31. 

Stylistic  qualities,  59,  60. 

Thackeray  on,  27. 

Titian,  29. 

Trees,  Botticelli,  62. 

Truth-telling,  19. 

Truth  to  nature,  71. 

Turner,  39,  146. 

Value  of,  Goethe,  35. 

Value  of  great  masters,  40,  148. 
Dry  point,  etching,  127. 

Rembrandt,  132. 
Dumblain  Abbey,  Turner,  25,  174,  175. 
Durer,  17,  24,  34,  85,  90,   111,   128,   151, 
170. 

Adam  and  Eve,  32,  107,  110, 

And  Marcantonio,  102,   110. 

Composition,  102. 


[   186 


Diirer,  design,  102. 
Diary,  92,  101. 
Drawing,   102,  104,   108. 
Education,  101. 
Emblematic  subjects,  106. 
Engravings,  102. 
Etcher,  140. 
Etchings,  123. 
Gothicism,  141. 
Great  Cannon,  140,  147. 
Human  feeling  in  his  art,  109. 
Illustrator,  104. 

Influence  on  Italian  art,  99,  101. 
Italian  opinion  of,  103. 
Journeys,   102. 
Landscape,  103. 
Leighton,  Sir  Frederic,  40. 
Life,  99. 
Melancholia,  110. 
Perspective,  109. 
Religious  engravings,  106. 
Repose  in  Egypt,  147. 
St.  Anthony,  109,  110. 
Use  of  line,  140. 
Visitation,  The,  141. 
Woodcuts,  107. 
Wood  engraving,  75. 
Work   of   his   assistants,    107. 

E 

Earlom,  Richard,  161. 

Liber  Veritatis,   166. 
Earthly  Paradise,  Botticelli,  63. 
Echinus,  outline  of,  31. 
Eckermann,  35. 
Edelinck,  163. 
Education,  art,  154. 

German  view  of,  13. 
Elements  of  Drawing,  Ruskin,  29. 
Eliot,  George,  154. 
Emerson,  17,  169. 
Emotion,  in  art,  28. 
England,  15,  116. 
Engravers,  school  of  Rubens,  137. 

Translator,  mezzotint,  158. 

Two  classes  of,  93. 
Engraving,  antiquity  of,  44. 

Artistic  scope  of,  184. 

Compared  with  etching,  123. 

Copied,  42, 

] 


Index 


Engraving,  crible,  75,  77,  164. 
Definition,  43,  44. 
Dependence  upon  line,  147. 
Drawing,  requisite   of,   12. 
Diirer's  religious,  106. 
First  mentioned  by  Vasari,  45. 
French  portrait,  17th  century,  131,  163. 
Gothic,  design  in,  84. 
History  of,  43. 
Incised,  73. 
Japanese  wood,  78. 
Kind  of  drawing,  10. 
Light  and  shade^  152. 
Line,  45 ;  early  practice  of,  83. 
Materials  employed,  72. 
Metal  and  wood,  historical  sequence  of, 

45. 
Metal,  Germany,  83. 
Metal,  origin  of,  67. 
Mezzotint,  150,  153. 
Mezzotint,  invention  of,   154. 
Mezzotint,  like  wash  drawing,  156. 
Mezzotint,  process  of,  155. 
Mistaken  for  etching,  130. 
Multiplied  drawing,  17. 
Original,  42. 
Relation  to  sculpture,  69. 
Relief,  73. 
Ruskin,  165. 
Ruskin,  definition  of,  17. 
Value  of  reproduction,  131. 
White  line,  76,  164. 
Wood,  block-books,  79. 
Wood,  Diirer,  76. 
Wood,  Holbein,  75. 
Wood,  Italy,  81. 
Wood,  method  of,  74. 
Wood,  origin  of,  67. 
Wood,  revival  of,  164. 

Engravings,  in  sense  of  prints,  44. 

What  many  think  them,  37. 
Erasmus,  92,  116. 

Portrait  of,  Holbein,  149. 
Esmond,  Beatrice,  43. 

Henry,  2. 
Estampe,  44. 
Etching,  Claude,  142. 

Combined  with  mezzotint,  159. 

Dependence  on  line,  147. 

[  187 


Etching,  drawing,  39. 

Dry-point,  127. 

Durer,  123,  140. 

Ease  of,  compared  with  engraving,  124. 

Finest  qualities  of,  131. 

Form  of  metal  engraving,  125. 

France,   123. 

Germany,   123. 

Ground,    124. 

Holland,   123. 

Invention  of,  123. 

Iron,  140^  124. 

Liber  Studiorum,  Turner,  174. 

Mistaken  for  engraving,  130. 

Principles  of,  123. 

Printing  of,   124. 

Process,  compared  with  engraving,  123. 

Process,  124. 

Rembrandt,  123. 

Ruisdael,  143. 

Technique  of,  124. 

Tools,   124. 

Van  Dyck's  portraits,  137. 
Exodus,  43. 

Experience,  value  of,  8. 
Eye,  power  of,  134. 


Facts,  German  purveyors  of,  1. 

Fame    Island,    frontispiece,    Turner,    41, 

131,   181. 
Fete  champetre,  Claude,  142. 
Finberg,  valuation  of  Turner,  165. 
Finden,  engraving  of,  15. 
Finiguerra,  45,  55,  85,  88. 
Finiguerra  and  Matteo  Dei,  48. 

Training,  46. 
Fra  Angelico,  The  Paradise,  12. 
France,  15. 

Francesca,  Dante,  17,  161. 
Francia,  110,  111. 
Frieze,  Parthenon,  22. 
Fuller,  Margaret,  17. 

G 

Gainsborough,  175. 
Genius,  20. 

And  the  commonplace,  136. 

] 


Index 


Genius,  artistic,  growth  of,  42. 

Carlyle,  178. 

Dante,  7. 

Drawing  of,  42. 

Focus  of,  22. 

Measurement  of,  41. 

Pretense  to,  7. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  8. 

What  it  is,  4. 
Germany,  after  1870,  13. 

Of  Goethe,  13. 

Of  Lessing,  13. 
Ghirlandajo,  6,  48. 

Louvre  portrait,  5. 
Giotto,  53,  77. 
Goethe,  13,   154. 

Drawing,  35. 
Goldsmiths     and     the     painters.     Renais- 
sance, 48. 
Goldsmiths,  Anglo-Saxon,  44. 

Florentine,  training  of,  47. 

Italian,  46. 

The,  Schongauer,  85. 
Gold-weigher's  Field,  Rembrandt,  30,  136. 
Goodhall,  engraving  of,  15. 
Gothic  design,  human,  84. 
Gothicism,  Diirer,  141. 
Grand  Ducal  Madonna,  Raphael,  115. 
Graver,  the,  nature  of,  47. 
Gray,  170. 

Great  Cannon,  Diirer,  140,  147. 
Great  picture,  definition  of,  132. 
Great  Wave,  Hokusai,  24,  28,  119. 
Greece,  93. 

Greek  vases,  outline  of,  31. 
Green,  Valentine,   160,   161. 
Grotesque,  the,  84,  88. 
Gubbio,  29. 

H 

Haden,  Sir  Seymour,  162. 
Hamerton,  67,   104,  125. 

Line,  29. 

Marcantonio's  school,   116. 

Printing,  59. 
Hamlet,  134. 
Handel,  17. 

Harrison,  Birge,  on  drawing,  31. 
Hawthorne,   58. 
Hell,  Dante,  14. 


Hellas,  Shelley,  69. 
Henry  VIII,   116. 
Hermes,  31. 
Hieroglyphics,  26. 
Hind,  A.  M.,  Finiguerra,  45. 

Mantegna,  95. 

Marcantonio,  113. 

Rembrandt,  137. 

Van  Dyck's  etched  portraits,  138. 
Hoarders,  art,  149. 
Hokusai,  Great  Wave,  24,  28,  119. 
Holbein,  17,  34,  35,  92. 

Dance  of  Death,  116,  120. 

Daniel's  Vision,  118,  120. 

Drawing,  31. 

Illustration  of  Scripture,  118. 

Illustrator,  116. 

Life  of,  116. 

Line,  use  of,  120. 

Lutzelberger,   116,  117. 

Portrait  of  Erasmus,  149. 

Red-chalk  drawings,   121. 

Skipper,  the,  120. 

Windsor  portraits,  132. 

Woodcuts,  117. 

Wood  engraving,  75. 
Hollar,  161. 
Homer,  181. 

Shield  of  Achilles,  43. 
Honnecourt,  Villars  de,  61. 
Human  Understanding,  The,  Locke,  4. 
Humor,  Gothic,  84. 
Huxley,  171,  173;  on  drawing,  26. 


Ideal,  the,  52,  69. 
Idealism,  in  art,  173. 

Italian  art,  101. 
Illustration,  Diirer,  104. 

Good  and  bad,  58. 

Scripture,  Holbein,   118. 
Imagination,  1,  135. 

German  neglect  of,  13. 

In  art,  117. 

Wordsworth,  16. 
Individuality,  artistic,  119. 

Of  mind,  33. 
Inferno,    Botticelli's    engravings    for,    54, 
57. 

Edition  of  1481,  57. 


[  188  ] 


Index 


Ingenuity^  meclianical,  16. 

Innis,  41. 

Invention^  artistic,  143. 

Mark  of  genius,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  8. 

Secret  of,  8. 
Israhel  van  Meckenem,  83^  88,  90. 
Italy,  15. 


Job,  Book  of,  Blake,  65,  164. 
Johnson,  Reynolds's  portrait  of^  149. 
Judea,  9. 

K 

Keppel,  engraving,   15. 
King  Lear,  12. 
Kingsley,  169. 
Kultur,  German,  13. 
Kunisada,  drawing  of,  78. 


Lancelot  and  Elaine,  5. 
Landscape,  classical,  Claude,  166. 

Diirer,  103. 

Rembrandt,  Square  Tower,  132. 

Schongauer,  86. 

Subject  of,  25. 
Landseer,  130. 

Large  Crucifixion,  Rembrandt,  137. 
Last  Supper,  The,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  17. 
Leighton,  Sir  Frederic,  40. 
Le  Keux,  engraving  of,  15. 
Lessing,  3. 
Ley  den,  131. 
Liber  Studiorum,   137,   159. 

Mezzotinting  of,  174. 

Norton,  C.  E.,  169. 

Purpose  of,  171. 

Relation  to  Liber  Veritatis,  171. 

Turner,   156. 

Turner's  part  in,   174. 

What  it  is,  173. 

Work  of  men  other  than  Turner,  174. 
Liber  Veritatis,  Claude,  159,  161,  166. 

Earlom,   166. 

Relation  to  Liber  Studiorum,  171. 
Life,  90. 
Lincoln,  170,  173. 


Line,  a  convention,  150. 

Accurate  use  of,  30. 

Artist's  delight  in,  141. 

Beauty  inherent  in,  30. 

Burin,   127. 

Character  of  engraved,  128. 

Character  of  etched,  129. 

Character  of  wood-engraved,  130. 

Concealment  of,  152. 

Delacroix,  29. 

Diirer's  use  of,  140. 

Engravings,  128. 

Etched,  127. 

Free,  31. 

Graver^  127. 

Holbein's  use  of,  120. 

Mantegna's  use  of,  96. 

Matter  of  description,  34. 

No  such  thing  in  nature,  150. 

Place  in  art,  149,  150. 

Qualities  of,  30. 

Rembrandt's  use  of,   135. 

Restraint  in,  31. 

Rhythm,  22. 

Strength  in,  31. 

Twofold  view  of,  141. 

Typical  etched,  130. 

What  it  is,  149,  150. 
Lippi,  153. 

Locke,  Human  Understanding,  The,  4. 
Low  Countries,  Diirer  in,  103. 
Lucas  of  Leyden,  92,  99,  147. 
Lucas     Vorsterman,    Van    Dyck's    etched 

portrait  of,  138,  139. 
Lucretius,  54. 
Lucretia,  Raphael's,  30. 
Luther,  91,  92,  170. 
Lutzelberger,  and  Holbein,  116,  117. 
Lyons,  121. 


M 


Manesse,  125,  126,  127. 
Mannerism,  33 ;  defined,  34. 

Great  men  above,  35. 
Mantegna,   111,   128. 

Composition,  99. 

Engravings,  95. 

Influence  of  sculpture  upon,  94. 

Line,  use  of,  96. 


[  189  ] 


Index 


Mantegna,  painter-graver,  93. 

Spirit  of,  92. 

Triumph  of  Casar,  96,  97,  147. 

Vasari  on,  91,  98. 
Mareantonio,  92,  111,  115,  128,  137,  153, 
161. 

Chief  of  Italian  engravers,  98. 

Diirer,  102,  110. 

Hind,  A.  M.,  on,  113. 

Life  of,  110. 

Rome,  112. 

School  of,  116. 

Vasari  on,  110,  112. 

Venice,  110. 
Martineau,   170,   173. 
Master,  E.  S.,  the,  83. 
Masterpieces,  second-rate,  132. 
Materials,  of  art,  69. 
Materialist,  the,  14. 
Melancholia,  Durer,  24,  30,   110. 

Meaning  of,  107. 
Mer  de  Glace,  Turner,  24,  172,  176,  181. 
Merchant  of  Venice,  134. 
Merejkowski,  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  draw- 
ing, 35. 
Meryon,  165. 

Metal  engraving,  Diirer,  107. 
Melanchthon,   116. 
Meyer  Madonna,  Holbein,  116. 
Mezzotint,  engraving,  158. 

Combined  with  etching,  159. 

Discovery  of,   152. 

Earlom,  Richard,  161. 

Green,  Valentine,  161. 

Invention  of,  154. 

Liber  Studiorum^  174. 

Painter-gravers,  158. 

Process  of,   155. 

Pure,  156. 

Tools,  155. 

Translator-engravers,  158. 

What  It  Is,  150. 
Michelangelo,  71,  91,  132,  139. 

Judgment,  The,  14. 

Prophets,  The,  1 1. 
Miller,  engraving  of,  15. 
Millet,  34,  165. 
Milton,    172, 
Minotaur,  the,  58. 
Missals,  Gothic,  77. 

[ 


Model,  fidelity  to,  42. 
Mont  Blanc,  Shelley,  176. 
Monte  Sancto  di  Dio,  the,  55,  65. 
More,  Sir  Thomas,  116. 
Morghen,  Raphael,  15,  131,  164. 
Museum,  British,  44,  77. 

Cast  of  Finiguerra's  Niello,  51. 

Monte  Sancto  di  Dio,  56. 
Museum  Metropolitan,  the,  44. 

National,  Washington,   76. 

N 

Nanteuil,  163. 

Nature,  complexity  of,  40. 

In  art,  23. 

In  art,  reflection  of,  41. 

In  art,  reflection  upon,  41. 

Lucas  of  Ley  den,   100. 

Poetry  of,  176. 

Prose  of,  176. 
Newton,   173. 
Nicolas,  of  Pisa,  69. 
Niello,  53. 

Vasari's  account  of,  46. 
Norham  Castle,  Turner,  32,  33,  179. 
Norton,  C.  E.,  165. 

Liber  Studiorum,   171. 
Niirnberg,  Diirer,  103. 

O 

Or  San  Michele,  48. 
Orcagna,  Andrea,  48. 
Originality,  matter  of,  7. 

Value  and  need  of,  4. 
Ottley,  55. 
Otto  prints,  the,  55. 
Outline,  70. 

Outline,  concealment  of,  152. 
Outline,  pure,  29. 


Paderewski,  17. 
Paganism,  revival  of,  92. 
Painter,  faults  of  great,  132. 
Painter-engravers,  93,  131. 

Mezzotint,   158. 
Painter-etcher,  131. 
Painting,  drawing  in,  31. 

190  ] 


Index 


Painting,  requisite  of,  12. 

Second-rate,  39. 
Palmer,  Samuel,   165. 
Paradise,  The,  Botticelli,  12. 

Fra  Angelico,  12. 

Tintoret,   12. 
Parnassus,  Claude,  63,   167. 

Raphael,  63,  167. 
Parthenon,  134. 

Frieze,  31. 
Past,  the,  value  of  knowledge  of,  7. 
Pater,  Walter,  on  taste,  8. 
Pattern  in  art,  117. 
Patti,  17. 

Pax,  The,  St.  John,  in  Florence,  48. 
Pedantry,  35. 
Pericles,  69. 
Perkheimer,  102. 

Personal  equation,  the,  in  art,  154. 
Perugino,  85. 
Photography,  37. 

Discovery  of,  15. 

And  engraving,  16. 

Not  art,  17. 

Value  of,  17,  39. 
Pictures,  detail  of,  24. 

Judgment  of,   1. 

Matters  of  description,  3. 

Subject,  23. 
Piranesi,  162. 
Plate  mark,  74. 
Plato,  8,  35. 

"Poetry,"  Raphael's,  161. 
Poliphilo,  Dream  of,  83. 
Pope,  170. 
Pope  Julius  II,  69. 
Portrait,  great,  Samuel  Butler,  139. 

Van  Dyck,  137. 
Portraits,  why  fine.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 

7. 
Portraiture,  Rembrandt,  136, 
Potter,  101. 
Power,  artistic,  40. 
Prague,  163. 

Prelude,  The,  Wordsworth,  2,  12,  176. 
Press,  printing,  74. 

Use  of,  in  printing,  50. 
Print,  equivalent  of  drawing,  P'iniguerra, 
52. 

From  mezzotint  plate,  156. 

[  191 


Printing,  125. 

Crible,  76. 

Discovery  of,  44,  45,  46. 

Early,  by  rubbing,  51,  74. 

Hand,  73. 

Importance  of,  59. 

Metal  plate,  73. 

Movable  type,  79. 

Origin  of,  78. 

Roller,  74. 

Venice,  82. 

With  a  press,  51. 
Prints,  equivalent  to  drawings,  46. 

Identical  with  drawings,  148. 

Japanese  color,  78. 

Meaning  engravings,  44. 

Means  of  advertisement,  47. 

Value  of,  148. 

What  they  are,  15. 
Proof,  A,  125. 
Publishing,   127. 
Punch,  90. 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  63. 


R 


Raphael,   17,  53,  69,  71,  85,  91,  92,   137, 
147,  148,  153,  161. 

Classicism,    141. 

Drawing,  29. 

Grand  Ducal  Madonna,  115. 

Line,  30. 

Parnassus,  63,  167. 

"Poetry,"  161. 

Sistine  Madonna,   17. 

Speaks  for  all,  10. 

Teachers  of,  48. 

Vision  of  Ezechiel,  119. 
Realism,  141;  Diirer,  101. 
Reality,  135;  material,  20;  spiritual,  20. 
Reason,  in  art,  28. 
Reformation,  the,  91,  92,  116. 
Rembrandt,  11,  15,  18,  35,  131,  132,  139, 
147,  148,  151,  165,  170,  173. 

Christian  art,  134. 

Consummate  etcher,  131. 

Drawing,   135. 

Dry  point,  132. 

Etched  landscapes,  17. 

Etching,  123,  132. 


] 


Index 


Rembrandt,  genius  of,  Hind,  137. 

Gold-weigher's  Field,  86^  136. 

Landscape,  Ruined  Tower,  132. 

Large  Crucifixion,  137. 

Line,  30. 

Photograph,  37. 

Portraiture,   136. 

School  of  anatomy,  149. 

Speaks  for  all,  10. 

Square  Tower,  175. 

Three  Crosses,   137. 

Three  Trees,  134. 

Use  of  line,  135. 
Renaissance,  the,  54,  91. 

Art  of,  45. 

Art,  culmination  of,  71. 

Italian,  69. 
Repose  in  Egypt,  Diirer,  105,  147. 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  7,  18. 

Advice  of,  9. 

Engravers  of,  161. 

Genius  of,  8. 

Mezzotint  engravers  of,  158. 

Portrait  of  Dr.  Johnson,  149. 

Portrait  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  14. 
Rivers  of  France,  Turner,  182. 
Rocker,  The,  155. 
Rogers,  "Italy,"   15. 

"Poems,"  15. 

Samuel,  131. 
Roller,  hand,  use  of,  in  printing,  Vasari, 

50,  74. 
Romantic,  meaning  of,  141. 
Rome,  Marcantonio,  112. 
Rouen,    Rivers    of    France,    Turner,    182, 

183. 
Rubbing,  74. 
Rubens,   152,   153,   161. 

Descent,  The,  17. 

School  of  Engravers,  137. 

Taking  Down  from  the  Cross,  14. 
Ruisdael,  15,  143,  147. 

Drawing  of,  146. 
Rupert,  Prince,   154. 
Ruskin,  17,  29,  134. 

Ariadne  Florentina,  165. 

Diirer's  drawing,  102. 

End  of  art,  3. 

Engraving,  lectures  on,  165. 

Great  art,  praise,  17. 

[ 


Ruskin,  recognition  of  Turner,  168. 

Turner's  Rouen,   183. 
Rhythm,  in  art,  142. 


Sagakudo,  24. 

St.  Anthony,  Durer,   109,  110. 

St.  Christopher  of  1423,  the,  67. 

St.  Francis,   172. 

Schongauer,  24,  88,  90,  98,   100. 

Artist-draughtsman,  85. 

Influence  on  Diirer,  101. 

Landscape-background,  86. 
School  of  anatomy,  Rembrandt,  149. 
Science,  applied,  12;  pure,  12,  171. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  on  literature,  10. 
Scraper,  the,  155;  use  of,  156. 
Sculpture,  archaic,  Greek,  69. 

Bas-relief,  70. 

Chartres,  87. 

Gothic,  86. 

Greek,  69,  86. 

Greek  and  Roman  in  Renaissance,  94. 

Medieval,   87. 

Medieval  French,  61. 

Relation  to  drawing,  70. 

Relation  to  engraving,  69. 

Sicilian  Greek,  72. 
Seeing,  simplicity  of,  5. 
Seine,  The,  Turner,  183. 
Shade,  in  drawing,  29. 
Shakespeare,  reputation,  8. 

Speaks  for  all,  10. 
Sharp,  William,  162. 
Shelley,  69,  176. 
Short,  Frank,  159. 
Siegen,  154. 
Simplon  Pass,  Turner,  176. 

Wordsworth,  176. 
Sistine  Madonna,  The,  11,  17,  33. 
Sketch,  132;  value  of,  38. 
Skipper,  The,  Holbein,  120. 
Speculum  Humanae  Salvationis,  80,  81. 
Spenser,  15. 

Spirit  of  all  Religions,  Watts,  149. 
Squarcione,  influence  of,  93. 
States,  etching,  127. 
Steinla,  131. 
Strange,  Sir  Robert,  164. 

192  ] 


Index 


Style,  33,  53,  139. 

Sympathy,  understanding  necessary  to,  9. 

Symphony,  Pastoral,  The,   12. 


Talent,  20. 

Taste,  natural,  129. 

Taste  and  culture,  Pater,  8. 

Technique,  39,  71. 

Holbein,  120. 

Meaning  of,  27. 
Temeraire,  The,  Turner,  2. 
Tennyson,  134,  161. 
Textures,  representation  of,  89,  163. 

Lucas  of  Leyden,  99. 
Thackeray,  43. 

On  drawing,  27. 
Three  Crosses,  The,  Rembrandt,  137. 
Three  Trees,  Rembrandt,  24,  134. 
Tintoret,   153. 

Crucifixion,   17. 

Paradise,  The,  12. 

Universal  Mother,  The,  149. 
Titian,   134,   152. 

Drawing  of,  29. 
Tone,  meaning  of,  93. 
Tools,  artists',  69. 

Etching,  124. 

Free-hand,  27. 

Importance  of,  27. 

Mechanical,  27. 

Mezzotint  engraving,  155. 
Translator-engraver,  93. 

Rubens,  school  of,  138. 
Trees,  drawing  of,  23. 
Triumph    of    Caesar,    Mantegna,    96,    101, 

147. 
Truth,  artistic,  172. 

In  art,  17. 

Scientific,   172. 
Turner,  Charles,  engraving  of,   15. 
Turner,  J.  M.  W.,   15,   18,  34,   152,   158, 
170,  173,  174,  184. 

iEsecus  and  Hesperie,  143. 

Blair  Athol,  177. 

Brougham  Castle,  160. 

Catholicity  of  interest,  175. 

Drawing  of,  146. 

Engravers  of,   131. 

[ 


Turner,  etchings  of  Liber  Studiorum,  174. 

Expositor  of  nature,  171, 

Finberg's  valuation  of,   165. 

Genius,  178. 

Innovator  in  art,  168. 

Laughed  at,  2. 

Liber  Studiorum,  137,  159. 
Truth  to  nature,  171. 

Likeness  to  Wordsworth,  169,  171,  180. 

Mer  de  Glace,   176,   181. 

Norham  Castle,  32,  179. 

Recognition  of,  Ruskin,  168. 

Rivers  of  France,  131,   182. 

Rouen,   182. 

Simplon  Pass,  176. 

Speaks  for  all,  10. 

Temper  of  mind,  157,  158,  181. 

Waves,  41. 
Tyndall,  171,  172,  173. 
Type,  movable,  81. 

U 

Lhiiversal  Mother,  Tintoret,  149. 

V 

Values,  meaning  of,  93,  151,  152. 

Van  Dyck,  35,  138,  139,  147,  152,  163. 

Etched  portraits,  A.  M.  Hind,  138. 

Master  of  portraiture,  137. 
Van   Eyck,  78. 
Vasari,  63. 

Importance  of,  45. 

Lucas  of  Leyden,  99. 

Mantegna,  94,  98. 

Marcantonio,   110,   111. 
Vatican,  the,  92. 

Venetian  Senate,  decree  of  1441,  67. 
Venice,  Diirer  in,  102. 
Venus  of  Melos,  17,  87,  94. 
Vision,  interpretative,  135. 
Vision  of  Ezechiel,  Raphael,  119. 
Visionary,  The,  14. 
Visitation,  The,  Diirer,  103,  141. 
Volpato,  164. 

W 

Waterloo,  Anthony,  142, 

Watts,  Spirit  of  all  Religions,  149. 

193  ] 


Index 


Wellington,  Duke  of,  134. 
Whistler,  15,  18,  34,   139,  148,  152,   164, 
165. 

Etched  landscapes,   17. 
Willmore,  181. 

Engraving  of,  15. 
Windsor  portraits,  red-chalk,  Holbein,  33, 

121,  132. 
Wohlgemuth,   101. 
Woodcut,  dependence  on  line,  147. 

Durer,  107. 

Holbein,  117. 
Wood-engraving,  Flemish,  73. 

German,  73. 


Woollett,  William,  164. 
Wordsworth,    4,    38,    41,    136,    139,    167, 
170,   178,   179. 

Expositor  of  nature,   171. 

Imagination,  16. 

Similarity  to  Turner,  169,  171,  180. 

Simplon  Pass,  176. 

Speaks  for  all,   10. 
Work,  good,  and  excellent,  9. 
Writing,  relation  to  drawing,  Huxley,  26. 


Zani,  The  Abbot,  49,  51, 


[   194   ] 


ERRATA 

Page  58,  line  15,  "sleeps"  should  read  "steeps,"' 

Page  59,  line  15,  "Golding"  should  read  "Goulding." 

Page  93,  the  words  "Figure  61"  should  appear  at  the  end  of  the  footnote. 

Page  94,  line  20  should  read  "and  giving  Italy  translations  of  Greek  phi- 
losophers, "  etc. 


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